


Royal Matchmaking

by MiaRoseT



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Background Relationships, Bad Decisions, Bad Parenting, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Choices, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Secrets, First Kiss, France (Country), Kings & Queens, Matchmaking, Modern Royalty, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Princes & Princesses, Protective Older Brothers, Publicity, Reality TV, Rebels, Repressed Memories, Romance, Royalty, Scotland, Secrets, Teenage Rebellion, frary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 189,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22509730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaRoseT/pseuds/MiaRoseT
Summary: Mary Stuart is the daughter of the Queen of Scotland, the 'second born' with an older brother who is the heir to the throne, and only a slim chance of ever becoming queen herself. In a desperate attempt to bring positive publicity to the Scottish royal family, Mary's parents seek to arrange her marriage to a 'suitable husband', and, to Mary's horror, they agree to allow the dating process to be made into a television show...
Relationships: Henri II de France/Diane de Poitiers, Kenna/Sebastian "Bash" de Poitiers, Lola/Stéphane Narcisse, Lord Castleroy/Greer (Reign), Mary Queen of Scots/Francis de Valois (Reign), Queen Catherine/King Henry II (Reign)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

"Your Highness?"

For the past couple of minutes, Francis Valois had been staring out the window of his family's private jet, attempting to catch a glimpse of the country of Scotland as the plane glided smoothly through the dark, almost cloudless sky. For a moment, he'd been certain he could make out the outline of a castle on the ground below, before those two words from one of the plane's air stewardesses had distracted him.

Slowly, he turned his head away from the window, unsure as to whether he felt relieved at no longer having to observe the country beneath the plane-a country that felt increasingly unknown, unreadable, mysterious to him with each passing moment, in spite of several official visits to Scotland in the past, or whether he actually felt reluctant to be turning away.

"We'll be landing soon," the air stewardess informed him with a friendly smile the moment he turned to look at her, as she leaned down a little to address him. Her voice with its French accent sounded kind and gentle, but unfortunately not reassuring enough to calm his nerves.

She was dressed in a dark blue uniform, with a white shirt underneath her blue jacket, and a red scarf fastened around her neck. _The colours of France_ , he thought absently to himself.

His father had wanted him to wear similar colours for the ceremony that would take place late tomorrow afternoon, just in case anyone was in any doubt as to who would _truly_ be in charge of the upcoming proceedings, but Francis had already refused, opting instead to wear black clothes tomorrow. He felt that this would be more fitting to the occasion.

Besides, there were times when France itself felt almost as unfamiliar to him as Scotland did, after so many years spent in London before he had to return to his 'home' country on a permanent basis. He was still getting used to the place, and now there would be a whole new country to consider. He wasn't sure he felt ready yet, to throw on the French colours and act as its main representative.

"Thank you," Francis responded politely to the air stewardess, trying his best to smile back at her before she walked away to speak to his father, who was currently barking orders at other staff members travelling on the royal private jet, between his usual hacking coughs. Unlike certain family members of his, Francis always tried to be kind to their staff. He knew all too well how tedious it was to deal with bad-tempered royals.

As the plane began its slow descent, he felt his stomach give a lurch that had nothing to do with the change in cabin pressure, or the ever-increasing dread of facing the cameras, the journalists, the all-too-personal questions…

Soon, he would see her again. She would be there, in that small but beautiful country below, most likely in the castle that he still imagined he could see from the plane's window…

Perhaps the thought of getting to see her again was the only good thing about this mess that his father had got him into. But then again, perhaps that was the worst thing about it.

He couldn't help all the troubled thoughts and questions that instantly came to his mind: Did she hate him now? She'd seemed rather indifferent to him for a long time as they'd grown up, but perhaps those feelings of indifference had grown into a strong dislike, especially after what happened a couple of years ago…

Would she remember any of it? That night at the palace in France? Or had she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind? Had she tried to forget the noise, the fear, the terror, the confusion, the same way he always did? Did she blame him for what happened?

"Cheer up, Francis!" his father snapped at him from across the aisle, abruptly interrupting his dark thoughts. He glared at Francis with folded arms, a commanding figure in his elegant suit, with his closely-cropped dark hair. Everything about his appearance was a contrast to Francis's, who was currently brushing a stray strand of wavy blond hair away from _his_ eyes-try as they might, the palace hairdressers had never really succeeded in making his hair look neat and tidy.

People sometimes commented that Francis looked more like his mother.

And then there was the sneer that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his father's face these days.

"The last thing we need," his father continued to snap at him, "is for the press to take pictures of you looking miserable the moment we arrive in Scotland!"

Francis couldn't help glaring back at his father. He'd always aspired to be a kind person-a tolerant _king_ , one day, but the current king of France was enough to test anyone's patience, as most of his subjects would probably attest to.

He was sourly tempted to start sulking like the teenager he still was (just about, anyway), to insist that he had nothing to be cheerful about; that no part of this had been his choice; that all of it was for his father's benefit; that no good could come of this. But he knew it would be pointless. His father wouldn't care.

He couldn't help thinking about his younger brothers, Charles and Henri, and he wished that they could have come along with him on this strange adventure instead of having to stay at home in France. It was so much easier, when he could be the protective older brother, when he had people to take care of, something to distract him. Right now, in spite of his father's not-always-welcome presence, he felt terribly alone.

"Most princes would consider something like this to be beneath them," he chose to say to his father instead through gritted teeth.

"Nonsense!" his father retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're doing your _duty_ , like all the others before you. Never forget that."

This is what his father and his advisers had told him over and over: that he was doing his duty; doing them all a favour; that this alliance would be of great benefit to his country.

"Anyway," his father continued with a sneer, "I don't know what _you_ have to complain about. _You're_ about to get _everything_ you ever wanted…"

Francis felt his grip tighten on the armrest of his seat as his father finished his sentence with a significant glance in his direction, as though he could see into his mind and read his most secret thoughts-or worse, as though he could see into his heart. The one part of himself that he truly had to keep guarded, as the heir to the throne of a country that would always require so much of him. The one part of himself that he wasn't even sure he was ready to share. Right now, he wasn't sure if he would ever be ready.

Is _this what you want_? he asked himself as the plane continued to bring him closer to Scottish soil, carrying him towards the ground before he'd made any conscious decision to move, like fate was bringing him here much faster than he desired, in the same way that it had brought him back towards the French throne not so long ago.

For a moment, his mind was full of images of _her_ , standing opposite him under the tree in the clearing in the French countryside when they were children, spinning around over and over in a circle in the middle of the castle ballroom ten years later as the music played, with an almost mischievous grin on her face, her long, dark hair flowing around her as she moved, her hands held high above her head almost in a gesture of victory as she smiled; so free, so beautiful, almost like a bird in flight…

_You're about to get everything you ever wanted…_

But then he thought about everything else:

He thought about his mother, blinking back tears as she hugged him just before he boarded the plane, almost as though he would no longer be the same person when he returned to her. As though she was about to lose him, somehow.

Then he thought about Olivia, sobbing, begging him to reconsider, asking him not to sign up for this, telling him to find a way to back out, in the hope that they could be together again.

And again, his thoughts drifted back to everything that had happened in the past, that moment of shared history with the girl from the castle in Scotland.

He thought about how this whole thing had been fixed, negotiated, stage-managed, entirely beyond their control. He thought about how she probably hated him, how she would hate him even more after the show tomorrow afternoon. He thought about how neither of them had had any real choice in this. He thought about what she would think when she saw him in her country and she finally realised what her family had got her into.

Bizarrely, he thought about the chandelier in the ballroom, how it had crashed to the ground that night as his whole world shattered all around him, with only her to hold onto. He felt that same feeling right now.

"She is what you want, isn't she?" his father asked him with another sneer, as though this very idea was incomprehensible to him.

Francis glared at his father again before he spoke.

"Not like this."

* * *

The river was surprisingly still this morning.

Mary Stuart stared at her reflection in its waters, taking in her long, dark hair, her brown eyes, her olive skin. And then she saw her furrowed brow, her expression that was so full of anger, her barely-disguised fear that kept threatening to push its way to the surface…

With a sigh of exasperation, she smacked her hand into the water, causing it to ripple almost violently.

"How can a teenage girl's parents _possibly_ know who would make the best husband for their daughter?!" she demanded.

She'd aimed the question at her older brother, James, who was sitting beside her on the river bank, although she wasn't sure if she truly expected him to answer. He hardly ever answered her when she launched into this rant. James had agreed to sneak out of the castle with her this morning, the way they had both done ever since they were children, but that was often as far as his acts of rebellion went these days.

As the eldest of the two of them, three years older than her, and the 'precious first-born', James was the heir to the country's throne, and so would be king of Scotland one day. He took his duty as heir to the throne very seriously-more so with each passing year, Mary had noted-and he often expected the rest of the Scottish royal family to do the same.

She suspected that he'd only accompanied her on her walk this morning because he'd sensed her ever-growing tension within the walls of the castle, and he'd probably hoped she'd be less likely to fall into a sense of anger or panic or despair if she could just get away for a little while.

"I mean," she went on, when James continued to sit in silence, staring at his own reflection in the water, probably looking at his hair that was so like their father's, who he was named after, and his eyes that were so like their mother's, "this arranged marriage idea is _ridiculous_! How could my parents _ever_ understand what's in my heart? How could they know who I could be attracted to, who I could fall in love with? Do they _seriously_ think I'll end up with this man who they're going to introduce me to later?"

Mary wasn't sure she even understood much about love herself, as she wasn't exactly experienced in matters of the heart, but right now, that was beside the point. "And, to make matters worse, the whole process will be broadcast on _television_ , James!"

She shuddered as she finished her sentence, thinking about how that was probably the worst part about it. Her mother might have thought it was a good idea, to allow the cameras into their lives to document the matchmaking process that would hopefully lead to her second-born daughter's marriage, but that didn't mean that Mary herself felt any sort faith in the process, or happiness at the thought of being the 'star' of a television show, even though the whole country was apparently 'very enthusiastic' at the idea of getting to see more of the royal family-according to her mother, anyway.

She felt increasingly anxious every time she thought about the fact that it had been left up to her _mother and father_ to find her a suitable husband, as well as giving the rest of the country an insight into how royals dealt with marriage negotiations, while the cameras filmed it all as part of their show. Then there would be all the magazine interviews that she would be expected to give, and 'couples photo shoots', and other television appearances with her 'new boyfriend'…

"Our parents understand wise political decisions, Mary," her brother finally chose to say as a response, with a sad sense of finality in his voice.

Mary could easily read between the lines of what he was saying: this whole process wasn't about falling in love, or understanding what was in her heart-it was about finding her a match who would help to bring a little political stability to their small country; it was about encouraging positive publicity for a relatively new royal family, to make them seem more accessible to the public; it was about providing entertainment, in order to distract the country from all the protests, all the discord and dissatisfaction, all the calls to rid the country of the monarchy entirely.

She'd heard all of this before, of course, from her mother, and her father, and all of the palace advisers, over and over since her sixteenth birthday two years ago, when they'd all persuaded her to agree to allow her parents to find her a suitable match, and to allow the cameras to film it all.

"Yes, well, it's all right for you," Mary told her brother with a sigh, unable to keep the hint of resentment out of her voice. She had never envied his position before, but right now, _anything_ seemed preferable to _this_. " _You_ don't have to go through any of the humiliation that I'm about to be subjected to."

As the first-born, James's matchmaking process was considered _far_ too delicate and important to be documented on a television show. His future marriage had been negotiated and decided upon in private. He was engaged to be married to 'Lady Kenna', as she always insisted on calling herself, the teenage daughter of an old British noble family.

As the second-born, the expectations of Mary from her family and the public were a lot lower (not that anyone would admit this out loud). As long as she showed up to royal events wearing pretty dresses and behaved herself and said all the right things in the few interviews she was required to give, they seemed to be satisfied that she was doing her duty. And now, they expected her to show up to this particular show in a pretty dress, to allow her 'romance' to be played out on screen for them all while she had to act happy and grateful and say all the right things in her interviews, before she married a pretty husband for their entertainment. Or so her parents hoped, anyway.

"Do you _really_ believe I got the better deal?" James asked her, and for a second, Mary could hear the hint of resentment, and bitterness, in his own voice; she could see the flicker of rebellion on his face that she used to see so often when they were children.

But then, the look was gone, and he was serious, solemn again, his face a picture of duty and responsibility, which made her wonder if she'd only imagined his look of distaste in the first place.

"Everyone has to make sacrifices, Mary," he muttered, using another line she'd heard so many times before. "This is the responsibility that goes with the privilege."

Mary sighed at his words. Of course, he was right, in part. They were lucky, in many ways, especially as they had only been named as the Scottish royal family fairly recently through a mix of chance, and the good fortune of having an old royal connection to Scotland in their family tree, along with a recent change in political circumstances. Most people seemed to envy their lifestyles, and their so-called privileged position. And, with all great privilege came great sacrifice. According to James, anyway.

And yet, this attempt at rationalisation did nothing to ease her fears of inviting the media into her life, of giving away her heart to the cameras.

"Are you ready?" James asked her as he stood up, abruptly turning his head away from the water and taking a few steps back from the river, almost as though he couldn't stand to look at his reflection right now.

More than ever, Mary missed the younger James of her childhood, the one who'd laughed at the stuck-up royals along with her; the one who would have once been horrified at their parents' attempt to arrange her future marriage; the one who would have run away from the castle with her without a second thought.

_I'll never be ready_ , Mary suddenly wished she could say out loud, but instead she simply pushed herself reluctantly up to her feet, making sure to pull the hood of her jacket up, partially disguising her hair and face before they started to head back the way they came.

Even in disguise they were putting themselves in danger by doing this-their status as royals meant that they were constant targets for threats and kidnapping plots. There might have been undercover castle guards stationed all over the village closest to the castle, but still, they were taking a risk, and they both knew it. With another sigh, she thought about how it was only a matter of time before James tried to put a stop to this completely and insisted that they abandon any future attempts to sneak out just the two of them.

* * *

As she walked as slowly as possible towards the local village that would take her and her brother to the path leading towards the castle, Mary tried to take in all of her surroundings-the sights, the smells, the sounds of rural Scotland around her, almost as though she were seeing all of it for the last time, even though that idea was ludicrous.

She trod on all of the damp blades of grass, brushed her hands against the bark of trees, brushed her fingertips against the flowers, and she breathed in the cold, damp air. Wherever she went, she always tried to memorise her surroundings, so that she could attempt to interpret her experiences on paper later on, through her paintings and sketches. She hoped that she would still have time for all that, once the show had started.

As she walked, with that inner feeling of dread mounting with every step, she couldn't help hoping, wishing, that her parents would somehow have been tricked into setting her up with someone who would turn out _not_ to be of noble birth after all-someone who lived a normal life, whatever a 'normal life' was; someone who would understand just how much she hated the idea of the whole matchmaking process; someone who would allow her her freedom; someone who wouldn't be too upset if she withdrew from the show altogether, or refused to get married at all, by the time they reached the end of the programme; someone who could perhaps help her with her escape.

For months, she'd secretly been formulating her 'escape plan'-coming up with all the ways that she could use to get out of this process while seeming to play along; all the ways she could avoid a marriage altogether, in the end. As the opening ceremony drew ever closer, however, all of the imaginary escape routes in her mind seemed to be closing themselves off.

And then she felt a twist of guilt, to even be having these thoughts in the first place. Her mother was counting on her to do her duty; her parents had probably both tried their best to set her up with someone who she could at least get along with, and they would never set her up with anyone who was powerful or controlling enough to pose a genuine threat to _their_ power, after all...and all she could think about was betraying them.

When they finally arrived in the small village close to the castle, Mary focused on the crowds of people.

There were several groups of young people who looked to be about her age, talking and gossiping as though they didn't have a care in the world. Perhaps some of them would watch her on television later, relaxing and talking and laughing together about the events playing out on screen, most of them secretly glad that _they_ could choose to go out with whoever they wanted and would never have to go through the same public process.

It would be so much easier, she thought, if _her_ love life wasn't currently being treated like some sort of national event.

She couldn't help shuddering as she overheard a bit of gossip from a group of people standing outside the village pub about a royal family arriving in Scotland last night. She walked quickly on, feeling no desire whatsoever to know _which_ royal family was apparently in the country at the moment.

There were lots of couples in the village square, too, walking hand-in-hand or sitting close together on benches outside shops. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like, to meet someone and fall in love, to go through all of the usual rites of passage of first dates and blossoming romances. She had no experience with any of this, and yet she would somehow have to do all of that on camera later. She would have to meet the man her parents expected her to marry for the first time ever in a makeshift television studio while the whole country had the opportunity to see her reaction first-hand.

There was an elderly couple sitting close together on a bench outside the local book shop, the two of them holding hands, looking like they had been together for years, like their love had stood the test of time.

As she stared at them, Mary suddenly felt a rush of sadness, of jealousy, almost. Quickly, she turned her head away from the elderly couple and forced herself to keep walking.

The next bench along was littered with discarded newspapers. At a glance, she could see from the headlines that there had been several arrests at an anti-royal protest close to Edinburgh yesterday. Another paper revealed that the police were searching for members of so-called anti-patriotic groups who had been secretly meeting all over the country.

Mary sighed, wondering _how_ her mother could possibly think that one television show would ever distract the country from all its problems.

Suddenly, her eyes were drawn to a group of people dressed all in black with tattoos on their arms. She'd noticed tattoos on people's arms so often lately during her secret 'excursions' out of the castle.

All of the tattoos were strikingly similar-they depicted what appeared to be a bird in flight. Every time she saw those tattoos, she was overcome with a burning curiosity to find out what they meant, what they symbolised; she wanted to find out who these mysterious people dressed in black were.

Mary had tried to conduct a little research of her own into the meaning of the tattoos, consulting the old books in the castle's library and searching through the royal archives, and even asking some of her tutors, but so far, she hadn't been able to come up with much. The most she'd been able to put together was the theory that the bird was perhaps an old Celtic symbol, now used as a lesser-known emblem of Scotland, although she suspected that there was more to it than that.

She was so distracted staring at the tattoos that for a moment, she didn't realise that a young man who had been standing close to the group was watching her as she passed.

But then she looked up, right at the man, and she saw that he had dark brown hair and striking, beautiful blue eyes. Her heart gave a little jolt as she remembered that she'd already passed this same young man a few times lately, here in this village and on its outskirts. She'd remember those eyes anywhere. Every time, she'd tried to glance discreetly at him from underneath the hood of her rain coat, pulling her makeshift disguise to one side a little as she attempted to pass him slowly so that she could get a good look at him. She always felt like she never had enough time to stop and stare.

This time, as soon as she caught his eye, he smirked and winked at her.

Startled, Mary didn't react for a moment, but then she felt a smile creep slowly to her face. Up close, she noticed that he was wearing a leather jacket, his clothes somehow casual and smart at the same time, and there was a ring on his middle finger. The ring was only plain, brown in colour, and it looked like it had been carved out of wood-it was nowhere near as elegant as the jewels that the people in the castle often wore, but there was something beautiful in its simplicity.

He walked almost with a swagger, with something challenging in his step. He was just the sort of boy who she would have been drawn to, when she'd been a rebellious young teenager studying at a strict London boarding school a few years ago.

The young man smiled back at her and he seemed to look her up and down for a few moments, before he turned and walked in the opposite direction. There was also a real purpose in his step, like he had somewhere to be, like he knew exactly where he was going.

Unintentionally, Mary pressed her index finger to her lips, almost as though the stranger had actually left a kiss there. She was overcome with a desire to giggle, just like the young girls she always passed in local towns and villages.

As she kept on walking, Mary knew that she was still grinning. She allowed herself some time to just enjoy the moment, to think about the fact that the boy with the blue eyes had looked at her like that-like she was just an ordinary girl who had made him smirk and wink. Perhaps this was how people felt, when they flirted with someone for the very first time, or when somebody finally noticed them.

James, who had kept his distance from her for most of the walk home, suddenly reappeared at her side. He looked over his shoulder and stared at the blue-eyed boy's retreating back with an expression that seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"He is very handsome," Mary couldn't help telling her older brother. Things like this never happened to her within the castle walls, and she just needed to tell _someone_. As she finished her sentence, she felt a pang of loss, even though she'd just lost something that she'd never really had in the first place; something she was never meant to have.

She knew she shouldn't be doing this, not now. She wasn't allowed to do this. She chanced a glance at her brother, and she couldn't help noticing the look of sadness written all over _his_ face. Or perhaps it was a look of pity. He seemed to allow himself one last sigh before his face was the picture of duty again.

They both stopped underneath the crooked signpost just outside the village, with its many arrows pointing in different directions.

For a few moments, Mary glanced longingly towards the path that was headed in the opposite direction from where she was expected to go, towards the forest. The group of people with their tattoos had just started walking down that path, all of them whispering to one another as though they were in on some kind of secret.

She wondered what it would be like to just take off after them, to leave her life as the second-born daughter of a queen behind and follow the group into the darkness of the forest, to find out what the big secret was. To run away. To escape.

"Mary..."

The sound of her brother's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. He might have said her name softly, but still she picked up on the firmness in his tone, in his eyes. A reminder of her duties. Perhaps even a warning not to run.

With one last longing glance at the tattoos of the birds in flight, she followed James down the path that would lead them both back to the castle.


	2. Chapter 2

Her bedroom in the castle was just as she'd left it.

Mary wasn't sure why this surprised her so much-maybe it was because lately she felt as though every single aspect of her life was about to change, or maybe it was because the thought had crossed her mind, when she'd noticed a map of the world displayed in a meeting room on the first floor of the castle, not long after she'd arrived home from her walk with James, that her parents might have chosen to set her up with someone who was not in fact from Scotland, and she could therefore have to spend time far away from the castle as part of the television show.

She wasn't sure why this thought had never occurred to her before. She worried that there were other things she'd missed about this matchmaking process in her naiveté, and she felt yet another flicker of fear that there would be more nasty surprises waiting for her just around the corner as she embarked upon this strange journey.

Much of her room was decorated in bright red-the walls, the carpets, the red lion print sewn into the golden covers on her four poster bed, depicting a Scottish emblem, along with the curtains surrounding it, as well as several pillows and cushions.

There were also a few weak flames dancing in the fireplace, and a fresh bunch of roses had been displayed in a vase on a bedside table, along with a tray holding golden cups and a red teapot, placed on a little wooden table in the centre of the room, all of which the staff must have taken care of at some point during the morning.

She felt a rush of fondness for the staff who worked in the castle, and all they did to help her and make her feel more comfortable. For all that she complained about life in the castle, and all the scheming and politics that went on within its walls, she had to admit that James did have a point sometimes, when he went on about the perks that came with being a member of a royal family.

Usually, this room was a place where she could find peace. It was one of the few rooms in the castle where visitors and tourists were not allowed to go; one of the places where meetings and negotiations between royals and politicians and diplomats could not take place. This room felt like it was truly hers, and it had become a sanctuary of sorts to her over the years.

Yet today, not even her room could calm her nerves.

Trying to ignore the feeling of tightness in her chest, Mary walked slowly around the large room, taking it all in, the way she had done earlier when she'd been outside, walking through the Scottish countryside.

She glanced in the direction of the right-hand side of the room, where several remnants of her childhood remained, in the form of a toy unicorn that her brother had used his pocket money to buy for her from a gift shop in Edinburgh when they were younger, and a patchwork quilt that she and James had helped to sew when they were children, with the help of several of the castle's full-time nannies, the two of them working together to sew up all the pieces.

A part of her was tempted to grab the blanket from its place on a wooden rocking chair and wrap it tightly around herself; to hide away like a child so she wouldn't have to face the world today. But she knew that the blanket wouldn't really be able to protect her.

There was also the Victorian-style doll's house in the same corner of the room: an old family heirloom that her mother had allowed her to have as a child. The doll's house was one of Mary's most prized possessions, and she had spent many a happy hour throughout her childhood playing with the miniature dolls that she knew were still inside the house now: a mother, a father and their two children-a boy and a girl.

She had loved that little doll family, and had often imagined the happy, normal life they lived in the wooden house as she played her childhood games with them. Now, she felt it would be rather childish and ridiculous to open up the doll's house again to stare longingly at that carefully crafted image of a happy family. Especially on a day like today.

Next, she walked past the bookcase on the left-hand side of her room, running her hands along the spines of all the classic books she'd read and collected over the years since she was younger. For a few moments, her hand rested on a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , one of her favourite stories.

Then she couldn't help smirking to herself as she pulled out the collections of more 'modern' romance novels that she'd also stacked on the shelves, placing them between the classics. They were the kind of novels that the nuns who taught at her boarding school would have labelled as 'trash', and Mary therefore felt a twisted sense of pride at displaying them on her bookshelves. The books contained stories of high school dramas and first-love romances, complete with a pile of books about teenage girls falling for stereotypical 'bad boys'.

Mary allowed herself a brief pause to look out through the windows of her balcony doors at the castle gardens and grounds, with their fountains, flowerbeds, neatly-trimmed hedges and freshly mown grass, all of which led towards the more untamed trees in the distance.

Not for the first time, Mary felt appreciative of the fact that her parents had chosen to set up home in the more peaceful and tranquil Scottish Highlands, rather than right in the middle of a busy city. They did own royal property in Edinburgh, where they went to stay when work and duty required it, but for the most part, this castle was their more permanent residence. She knew her mother believed that the rural location was more secure: _"Hidden from the view of rebellious eyes!"_ as she often said.

She was tempted to take a few minutes to go and stand on the balcony, so she could be outside again for a little while, but true to Scottish form, it had started to rain; a few droplets had already started to gather on the glass outside the doors. Her mother would get angry, if she arrived at her makeshift 'dressing room' with soaking wet hair.

After a few more moments of staring out of the windows, Mary headed over towards the desk positioned against the far wall of her room.

Above the desk, there were yet more bookshelves displaying textbooks about history, politics and French language. They had been Mary's favourite subjects at school in London, and she'd always surprised the strict nuns who ran the school when she was consistently awarded top marks in these subjects, as she suspected that most of the teachers had secretly considered her to be rather silly and immature.

Although she had relied on the tutors who were employed by the royal family to assist with her education since she had returned to Scotland two years ago, Mary was still reluctant to part with these school books, just in case she should ever need them one day. She had trouble letting go sometimes.

Mary had placed her laptop right in the middle of her desk, and if anyone cared to try to break into the files she'd tried her best to encrypt, they would possibly find all the documents containing sample speeches she'd typed out over the years in the relative privacy of her room, away from curious eyes, on the days when she'd been feeling particularly resentful about her place in the royal family and the situation in Scotland.

There were speeches written in favour of so-called royal rebels; attempts to negotiate with those who had not agreed with the reinstatement of a royal family in Sctoland; proposals as to what they could all do to prevent further riots and violent protests. There were also documents she'd created where she'd made plans to balance the budget more effectively, and proposals to cut royal spending. She knew her family would be furious, if they ever found any of these documents. But then, it wasn't as though she would ever have a _real_ opportunity to say these words out loud and put her proposals into practice.

Mary knew that the afternoon's opening ceremony was drawing ever closer. She could see from the time displayed on her phone screen, with the minutes counting down at what seemed like an alarming rate, along with several 'important' messages that her mother had sent to her via her phone throughout the day, reminding her that she was expected to go to the meeting with the new Publicist her family had hired to assist her with her television appearances and interviews, and the meeting was to begin two hours before the show started, allowing her enough time for hair and makeup, too.

_Do not be late!_ her mother had told her in her latest message.

In spite of the minutes that were rapidly ticking away, Mary had one more item that she wanted to look at first. She opened one of her desk draws and carefully took out the book she'd been searching for.

Unlike many of the other objects in her room, this book had a blue cover, with the exception of a bright red heart that Mary had determinedly drawn in the top right-hand corner. She'd purchased the book from a gift shop in the village several years ago. On the outside, it seemed rather bland and unoriginal, but the pages inside that had once been blank were now full of her own personal sketches, as well as various newspaper and magazine cuttings that she'd collected over the years.

Slowly, almost reverently, Mary turned the pages of the book, looking at all the sketches and cut-out pictures she'd put there. She smiled to herself as she stared at some of the pictures of handsome men that she'd cut out from magazines, back during her 'teenage crush' stage. Many of these boys wore leather jackets, or posed next to fancy cars or bikes, or they were covered in tattoos. They were all just the type of boy who she had been drawn to when she was younger.

She turned more of the pages, looking at a few of her own personal drawings. Some of her sketches in the book were in black-and-white, and some were in the brightest of colours. There were sketches she'd drawn of herself and James, based on memories of their childhood, and pictures of the castle and its staff members, as well as drawings of the local village and the city of Edinburgh. But mostly, the recurring theme in this book seemed to be one of love and romance.

There were many sketches of couples of all ages and backgrounds, some of them real, some of them imaginary. Whoever the couples were, they all reflected in some way Mary's ideas of a perfect romance-holding hands, talking, laughing, dancing, kissing, just enjoying being together, wherever they were in the world. She rolled her eyes as she noticed a sketch that she'd drawn of one of her mother's teenage crushes, a famous singer with long, blond hair. For all of Mary's father's flaming red hair, her mother had apparently had a liking for young men with blond hair when she'd been a teenager.

Of all the pages in the book, Mary's eyes were most drawn to a picture halfway through the pages. It was a sketch she'd drawn, depicting two children, a boy and a girl, standing under a tree in a forest, holding hands.

Every time she looked at this drawing, she felt the tug of an old memory, the slight pang of nostalgia, but she wasn't sure why exactly. She just knew that she'd seen this picture somewhere before, perhaps in an old childhood picture book, or as part of a painting displayed on a castle wall in one of the many countries she'd visited as part of her royal duties.

She was _sure_ that some image or other had once inspired her to create this picture in the first place, but she couldn't quite place it in her memory. She wasn't sure where exactly to look for the pieces of this memory, but she was determined to find them, one day. Something about the children in the drawing made her feel safe, happy, loved, and she felt almost as though she would discover all these feelings again if she could just remember where she had seen the picture before.

For now, she had left the picture in black-and-white, with a few of the finer details also left vague, in the hope that she would be able to fill in all the colours and complete the picture at some point in the future.

With one last longing look at the picture of the boy and the girl under the tree, Mary closed the book and placed it back in the desk drawer. She only shut the drawer gently, but the noise it made as it closed seemed to echo all over the silent room. She placed a tiny key in the lock and twisted it around, sealing it tight shut with a sad sense of finality.

Today was not the day for love and romance. She would have to keep that part of herself guarded, locked away, for now.

At the last minute, she placed the tiny key on a spare bit of black ribbon, and tied it around her neck like a necklace.

As she left the relative safety of her room behind, Mary made sure to only close the door softly behind her, as though making sure that this room would still be easily accessible when she returned later in the evening. She knew that there were parts of herself that she would have to hide and keep guarded as soon as the cameras started rolling, but she wasn't prepared to lose herself completely along the way.

* * *

With a sigh, she started to walk slowly down the corridor that led to the television room on the same floor, treading lightly on the dark blue carpets that were typical of the castle's hallways.

Her mother had deemed the large television room suitable for the initial meetings and preparations for the television show to take place, as there would be plenty of space for hair and makeup artists, as well as clothes racks, and chairs and tables-around which important discussions could take place.

If she hadn't been so nervous, Mary would have found it almost amusing, how she'd sat in that same television room with her brother so many times before, the two of them watching all the live royal weddings on the widescreen television, speculating as to whether the marriages had been arranged, and whether or not each marriage would work out in the long term.

They'd also watched so many reality television shows together, the two of them relaxing and eating popcorn as they viewed all the shows focusing on dating and matchmaking, like all of it was just light entertainment. And now Mary would be in exactly the same position, being watched by others through their screens. She would be their entertainment.

Mary wasn't sure why exactly she was treading so carefully over the carpets, the way she so often did when she couldn't sleep at night and she decided to take her secret walks all over the castle, trying not to get caught. Today, however, it wasn't as though she had to worry about being overheard. However quiet she was, her family would know exactly where she was anyway. She had no doubt that there were guards keeping a close eye on her, making sure she didn't run.

Besides, she was sure that the sound of the Scottish national anthem currently echoing up and down the castle's corridors from wherever it was playing would probably drown out the sound of her footsteps. She wouldn't put it past it mother to have hired a band of professional bagpipe players for the occasion, in an attempt to show today's visitors to the castle who was truly in charge.

As she got closer to the room where the meeting with her new Publicist would take place, she couldn't resist taking a forbidden peek out of one of the smaller windows that looked out onto the front entrance of the castle and the long drive leading up to it, just to see if the mysterious man she was expected to marry happened to be arriving at the castle.

She wondered what it would be like to have a group of close friends around her right now-other girls her own age. Would they have gathered around the window with her? Would they have giggled and laughed as they all gossiped about what the man who Mary was soon to meet would be like?

Mary sighed to herself. It was so difficult, given her place in the royal family, and the busy schedule that went along with it, to find true friends. Back at school, Mary had formed a close bond with her friend Greer, who had already been a prefect when Mary had first started at the London boarding school. Greer had been almost like an older sister to her, and she was one of the few girls at the school who Mary genuinely got along with. They were still friends now, but their time together was often limited, due to Mary's royal duties and Greer's new life with in Edinburgh with her soon-to-be husband and three young stepchildren.

She also couldn't help thinking about Aylee, a young girl who'd worked at the castle as part of an internship only last year. Mary had always enjoyed talking to her, as there had been something so innocent and honest about her, and she'd enjoyed having someone younger around who she could 'impart wisdom' to, after a lifetime of being seen as James's immature younger sister.

They had just started to become friends, but then there had been that terrible day when Aylee had collapsed in the castle's entrance hall. She hadn't survived. Later, they'd discovered that sweet, innocent Aylee been poisoned. It was suspected that rebels had somehow managed to poison several drinks in the castle right under all of their noses. Just when they'd been lured into a false sense of security, thinking that everything had calmed down, that things were starting to change for the better...

Mary still thought about Aylee all the time, still thought about her family, her parents…

No, she couldn't do this. Not today. It would be all too easy, to sink into panic or despair. And she couldn't afford to do that just now. Not when so many eyes would soon be upon her.

After a few moments of attempting to clear her thoughts as she continued to stare out of the dusty glass of the window, Mary's eyes were suddenly drawn to one person in particular outside. She jumped a little in shock and blinked rapidly a few times, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

She was certain she could see the young man with dark hair and blue eyes who she'd passed in the village earlier, walking right up the drive leading to the castle, with that same purpose in his step that she'd seen several times before.

Back in the village earlier, he might have taken a path heading in the opposite direction, but he had found his way to the castle after all.

_What's he doing here?_ she wondered to herself as she continued to stare out the window, transfixed. _Could it be…?_

For a few seconds, Mary allowed herself to consider this wild possibility that _he_ might be the man who her parents were planning to introduce her to later, but then she reminded herself firmly that this idea was almost impossible. For all her mother liked to give speeches about equal rights in Scotland, Mary would be very surprised if her parents didn't attempt to set her up with someone who was from a wealthy background, at least, if not of noble birth. She decided that there must be another reason why this boy was here today.

With a sigh, she ran a hand slowly, almost longingly over the dirty pane of glass, imagining the princesses from her childhood stories who lived in high towers and spent their days gazing out of the tower windows, taking in the brief glimpses of freedom outside.

Then, she noticed several fancy white cars with blacked-out windows pulling into the castle gates at the end of the long drive.

Feeling a rush of curiosity as to who the cars belonged to, Mary tried to press her face even closer to the glass…

"A-hem…"

The sound of somebody pointedly clearing their throat from behind her startled her out of her thoughts and made her jump. Feeling almost guilty, Mary turned away from the window.

Behind her stood a man who looked to be in his early to mid thirties. She supposed he was handsome, with short brown hair, blue eyes and a well-trimmed beard. He was quite tall, and was dressed in a plain black shirt and trousers. He also held a clipboard in his hand, with a phone sticking out of his shirt pocket.

Judging by the way he was dressed, and the clipboard he had hold of, not to mention the fact that he was standing close to the open door of the television room, Mary guessed that this man was to be her new Publicist.

Yet there was something about the way he carried himself, with elegance and grace and a definite sense of self-importance, that almost gave Mary the impression of a man of noble birth who was simply dressing up as a Publicist and a royal staff member for the fun of it, even though this idea was a bit strange. But still, she felt almost as though _he_ expected _her_ to bow to him.

"Your Majesty," he greeted Mary with a quick bow and what looked like a mocking smirk.

Mary frowned at him in confusion. Most of the staff who were hired to work at the castle were well-trained in royal etiquette, and this man looked to be very intelligent, yet he had committed a faux pas in the way he had just addressed her. 'Majesty' was a title for kings and queens, not second-born princesses who would never even have a chance at the throne. She was surprised he didn't know that. It was the sort of error her etiquette-obsessed mother would not be impressed with.

Mary was tempted to discreetly correct him, but something about the way he continued to smirk at her seemed to suggest that he knew exactly what he was saying.

"Mary," she chose to say to him instead, holding out her hand to introduce herself and deciding to do away with fancy titles altogether.

"Narcisse," he responded as he shook her hand like a professional, as though the two of them were carrying out some sort of business transaction. "Stephane Narcisse."

"Are you my new Publicist?" she asked him with another frown, half expecting him to deny it.

He simply inclined his head a little, with that smirk still on his face.

"I thought the groom was not supposed to catch a glimpse of the bride before the wedding?" he asked her with a knowing smirk as he nodded his head in the direction of the window she'd just been looking out of.

Yes, he was definitely mocking her.

"Well, this is not exactly a normal bride-and-groom situation, is it?" she fired back with folded arms and a raised eyebrow.

"That it is not," he conceded with another incline of his head. "But perhaps these…unconventional circumstances will allow us to bend the rules a little at some point?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"Perhaps," Mary replied with a confused frown. She felt almost as though he was testing her in some way, although she wasn't sure how she was supposed to pass the test. She couldn't help feeling a bit relieved though, at the hint that this particular Publicist might _not_ expect her to blindly follow her family's rules.

"It must run in the family," Narcisse suddenly muttered, cryptically.

"Excuse me?" Mary asked him, her expression firm, ready to defend her family's honour, in spite of all the things she'd said and thought about them herself.

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the window that Mary had just been looking out of before he answered: "I've just spied your older brother listening in outside the open door leading to the Throne Room. No doubt trying to catch a glimpse of your future husband for you…"

Mary winced a little at the use of the term 'future husband', but she couldn't help feeling a rush of gratitude towards her brother. She'd asked James over and over if he could perhaps try to find out who her parents were trying to set her up with in advance of the opening ceremony, to reduce the possibility of any unpleasant surprises, but she hadn't _really_ expected him to try.

But then, the more cynical voice in her head reminded her, James could simply be so eager to find out who it was out of his own personal anger that the secret had been kept from him in the first place. As the heir to the throne, he often acted like he was entitled to know about everything that was going on within the castle walls. She'd seen the look of irritation on his face a few weeks ago, when her parents had made their final decision and informed James that it would be easier if he didn't know who would be visiting the palace today, for fear that he would inadvertently reveal the secret too early.

"Shall we?" said Narcisse, interrupting her thoughts. He held an open hand out towards the television room.

Mary stood on her tiptoes and looked into the room, where she could see various people bustling about wearing headsets, talking on their phones and moving clothes rails around. With a shrug, she followed Narcisse inside.

* * *

As always, the walls of this room where bright white, spotlessly clean-clinical, almost.

There was also a freshly polished white coffee table in one corner, on which there were several tabloid magazines displayed. Mary noticed that the front cover of the magazine at the top of the pile showed a photograph of her mother at the White House, on her most recent official visit to the USA to meet the President.

This room with its white walls definitely felt like it belonged to her mother, and not to Mary.

She noticed that the old chess set that had been collecting dust in the far corner of the room had been moved to the middle of the floor. She suspected that Narcisse had been playing against other staff members while he waited for her to arrive.

First, he led her towards the clothes rails leaning against the walls, where rows and rows of brightly coloured dresses were hanging. For the past few months, her mother had repeatedly sent her pictures of all of these designer gowns, urging her to make a decision in advance of the opening ceremony as to what she wanted to wear, but in her lack of enthusiasm, Mary had barely glanced at any of the pictures.

Now, she stared at all the expensive dresses, many of them covered in jewels and beads and intricate patterns.

It was tempting, to pick out the brightest, fanciest dress, to use the opening ceremony as some sort of catwalk so she could distract the public from the seriousness of the upcoming event and all the issues in Scotland; to hide herself behind expensive jewels and layers of makeup, but she knew that wasn't an option anymore. Or, more accurately, she didn't _want_ it to be an option. She didn't want to be a silly girl in a silly dress.

Mary felt almost as though she was about to walk onto a battlefield, and she wanted to look like a worthy opponent, even though she was trembling on the inside.

"I want to look like me," she insisted as she pulled out a plain, simple, black lace dress from the end of the clothes rail and glanced determinedly in Narcisse's direction.

"An excellent choice," Narcisse told her as he stood behind her and nodded at the dress. Apparently, she had passed this particular test of his.

The look on his face was calculating, and for a moment Mary imagined herself as a chess piece on Narcisse's own personal chessboard; a piece that he was attempting to manoeuvre into an advantageous position.

After the dress had officially been decided upon, in the face of opposition and several arguments from the stylists in the room, Narcisse showed her to the chairs which were positioned around the chessboard.

He pointed at one of the chairs, indicating that she should take a seat.

Again, Mary frowned. She thought of her mother, and the way that _nobody_ would have _dared_ to sit down at formal events until she gave them permission to do so; how nobody would have told _her_ to take a seat. But she wasn't her mother.

"How are you feeling about the upcoming process?" Narcisse asked her the moment they had both sat down.

For a second, Mary was tempted to lie. She could say that she was fine, that she was excited for what was to come. Or she could at least pretend that she was happy to do her duty to Scotland.

But she couldn't do it; some sort of block in her mind would not allow her to speak those deceptive words at the moment. Nobody else truly understood how she felt, not her brother, or her father, and especially not her mother, and she simply had to be honest with somebody.

"Terrified," she finally admitted after what felt like a long, tense pause. She looked down at the floor, almost feeling ashamed at the admission.

Narcisse, however, didn't offer up any words of judgment. He simply nodded as he stared at the chessboard beside him. Another test passed.

"Your mother has advised," he said, as he glanced down at his clipboard, "that you focus on how _beneficial_ to the royal family you think this process will be, when you give your first interview at today's ceremony…how _enthusiastic_ you are about it all. How much you're _looking forward_ to meeting your 'fiancé…"

His lips quirked into a smile when Mary was unable to resist rolling her eyes at the repetition of her mother's orders.

"However-"

Mary couldn't help looking up at Narcisse's 'however'. Now, he had her full attention. For so many years, she'd been spoken to like a child, but now, this older man was actually talking to her like an adult; an adult who understood tactics and game-playing. An adult who could bend the rules and change the game with him.

"-in light of what you've just said, I thought perhaps we could try another angle-"

"Which is?" Mary asked, full of curiosity.

"You're… _intrigued_ to see where this matchmaking process will go. You're _waiting_ to see how it plays out. You're acting on behalf of Scotland, and you intend to keep it that way. Keep it vague. Make no promises. Don't be rude, but _don't_ give too much away. Do not commit to anything just yet. Let them know that the game might change, if you so choose."

Mary nodded. She liked this method better. It would give _her_ room to manoeuvre; more space to weigh up her options.

_The opportunity to back out of a proposal,_ she couldn't help thinking, although she tried not to let this thought reflect in her facial expression. She wasn't sure yet if she trusted Narcisse or not.

"After the opening ceremony..." He leaned forward now, speaking in a whisper, as though he didn't want this part of the conversation to be overheard by others in the room. "Keep a close eye on _everything_ , so we can see how we can use this matchmaking process to our best advantage."

Mary found it slightly strange, how Narcisse had said 'we' and 'our', instead of 'you' and 'your'.

They discussed the approach that Mary would take in her initial interviews for a little while longer, before they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Narcisse got up to answer it, but Mary was one step ahead of him. She opened the door to see a young woman with long brown hair that fell in gentle curls over her shoulders standing on the other side of it. She was dressed in a dark blue skirt and jacket, with a white blouse underneath the smart jacket. The colours of Scotland. The outfit might have looked professional, but it didn't completely mask the girl's youth.

Mary's family had been advertising for several staff positions over the past few months, and a lot of interviews had been taking place recently. It seemed as though this girl was new here. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary could see Narcisse watching the young woman with an expression of interest from where he was standing on the other side of the room.

The girl was carrying a cushion with a tiara displayed proudly on top of it. One glance at the glittering tiara and Mary knew exactly who had sent her.

She tried her best to smile encouragingly at her, feeling genuinely happy that for once, her mother had employed a younger member of staff, someone who looked to be around Mary's age, or perhaps only a few years older. Perhaps they might even become friends.

"Your Highness," the girl greeted her with a quick curtsy. She looked tense, nervous.

"Mary," Mary instantly corrected her, trying to put her at ease.

"M-Mary," the girl repeated hesitantly, like she was trying the name out, testing this casual address of a royal to see if it worked. "Your mother's insisting you wear a tiara for today's ceremony. She told me to bring it straight to you and ordered me not to drop it or damage it. Queen Marie is a bit scary," she added in a whisper, before her eyes suddenly widened, as though she couldn't believe that she'd just said this out loud; as though she'd only just remembered that she was speaking to 'Queen Marie's' daughter.

"Just a bit?" Mary asked her with a knowing smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Luckily, the girl smiled back at her.

"Lola," the girl introduced herself, after she'd handed the tiara over to Mary with trembling hands.

Mary thanked her for the tiara, and Lola nodded her head politely at Mary and the staff in the room before she turned to leave. Mary noticed that Lola's glance rested on Narcisse for a few long seconds before she closed the door.

The next hour passed in a blur of hair styling products and makeup brushes, along with several arguments between Narcisse and the hair and makeup artists, after he'd insisted that they were to keep Mary's hair and makeup simple.

After yet another tense argument, caused by Mary's insistence on wearing the silver key from her bedroom on its black ribbon around her neck for the ceremony instead of the traditional royal jewels, Narcisse and a few other staff members left her alone with the stylists so she could change into her dress.

When he returned, he insisted on placing the tiara on her head, lowering it down slowly, almost like he was at a coronation ceremony, crowning a queen.

When the tiara was firmly upon her head, she heard another knock at the door.

Mary felt her whole body tense. She was expected downstairs at the opening ceremony any moment now, and she had no doubt that this was her older brother, here to collect her, to walk her to her future.

When she opened the door, the first thing she noticed was that James looked much paler than usual. Then, she saw that his eyes were wide. He looked shocked, like he was in a state of total disbelief; like he couldn't believe what he'd just seen. _Who_ he'd just seen.

At the look on her older brother's face, Mary's whole body felt like it had turned ice cold with dread. It was as though she had just plummeted into freezing water. She felt like she was drowning.

"James," Mary asked him, her voice trembling with a fear that she could no longer disguise, "who is it?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a general warning, this chapter features a flashback to a disastrous event that acts as a painful memory for several of the characters...

Francis paced rapidly up and down the small room that was just off to the side of the main Throne Room in the Scottish castle, where he was separated from the television crew by only a closed door, almost as though the door was creating a physical barrier between his past and his future.

It wasn't that there was anything particularly wrong with the room-it was neat and tidy and clean, with several comfortable chairs placed about it, and a small window that offered a view out to the castle grounds, but the combination of the small space, and the presence of the French guards who had travelled to Scotland with them, as well as his father and several journalists, made Francis feel like a prisoner, or worse, like a caged animal.

Then there were the ever-growing nerves over what was about to happen, the pounding of his heart, his shaking hands…

_Please don't hate me,_ he chanted over and over in his head, as though she could somehow hear him through some sort of telepathic connection. _Please understand why I had to agree to this. Please see that I was only trying to protect you, your family, your country. I never wanted to hurt you."_

He knew that all of these thoughts were pointless, ridiculous, especially when he wasn't actually saying them out loud, but he couldn't help it.

Yet, even if he _could_ put all of these thoughts into words, what difference would they make? She didn't feel the same way about him-perhaps they had been close, once, when they were children, but since then, she'd always treated him with something like indifference. She'd always treated royalty in general with indifference. And after that night, things had only got worse…

_Please don't hate me_ , he begged her again in his thoughts.

Francis was distracted from his negative thoughts by the sound of a radio communication coming through to one of the guard's radios.

"They'll be ready for you in five minutes, Your Highness," the guard informed him, his tone sounding rather flat.

"Thank you," Francis replied with a curt nod, even though _he_ wasn't ready for them. He wasn't sure he'd _ever_ be ready for Scotland and its royal family; ready for her.

As the minutes ticked away and the moment of facing the cameras drew ever closer, Francis's thoughts grew increasingly irrational: _I knew it was you,_ he told her. _I knew it was you, behind the mask, that night. I knew it was you before the others worked it out, before you revealed yourself. You looked beautiful. I always knew it was you. I still know. I called out for you, later that night, early the next morning, but you didn't hear. You'd already left…_

Perhaps these thoughts in particular were the most difficult to deal with. He knew how to be a king; he'd been trained for that role since birth. He knew how to manage his subjects and French politics and policies to the best of his abilities. He knew how to charm people, and even how to flirt, when it was necessary. He knew how to kiss, how to conduct something akin to a relationship within the walls of the castle back in France. But nothing had ever prepared him for _this_. For real, romantic feelings. For unrequited love.

He wasn't supposed to _have_ these feelings in the first place-his first priority was always supposed to be his role as a future king. He was supposed to treat this matchmaking process as nothing but a wise political decision; a clever move for the French pieces on some sort of imaginary chessboard. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his true self behind his own invisible mask that he was forced to wear every day when he faced the public.

"They're ready for you now, Francis," his father told him, with a definite warning in his glance.

Francis's heart started beating even faster. As he headed towards the door that would take him to the Throne Room, he made a few more futile attempts to communicate with her through his thoughts: _Please try to remember the day under the tree, when there were petals raining down on our heads; please try not to remember the night years later, when there were shards of glass falling down on us…_

He shuddered, trying to shake off those last-minute thoughts as he reached out a shaking hand to open the door.

_Mary, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry,_ he couldn't help thinking, over and over.

Perhaps after today's show, this would be the one thought that he would be able to put into words.

* * *

James didn't answer her question.

Mary wasn't even sure she'd really expected him to answer.

Instead, he continued to stare back at her with wide eyes. He still looked pale, and shocked, and there was an expression of panic written all over his face.

Mary was sure that the look on her brother's face was some sort of twisted reflection of her own inner fear. She wondered how bad this could be, for James to look so shocked; she wondered what terrible moment her parents were about to subject her to.

After a few long, tense moments, her brother finally broke the silence: "Mary, please," he whispered. His tone of voice was desperate, pleading.

As always, Mary could read between the lines of what he was saying: _Don't make me tell you. Don't put me in this position. Don't make me choose between loyalty to you and loyalty to our parents. Don't ask me to break the rules for you this time. Not today. Please just do your duty so we can both get through this._

Suddenly, a memory of a time when _she_ had asked for James's silence started to play out in her mind…

_She was in the hospital wing of a castle that was definitely not her family's, the morning after a terrible disaster had happened._

" _James," she whispered, the moment he arrived beside her hospital bed. "Please don't ask me why I'm here. Please don't tell anyone I'm here…"_

_He nodded his head, solemnly, silently agreeing to her plea._

And he had never told anyone about the mess that Mary had almost got them all into, not even their parents.

Mary felt her eyes widening in horror at the realisation that she'd just let that particular memory enter her head on a day like today. Of all the days for the fragments of that memory to appear in her mind. Why was she thinking about it now? It was in the past, and today was not a day to be thinking about the past.

Eventually, Mary answered her brother's silent plea with a sad, resigned nod of her own.

Her brother was not going to ease this burden for her, and she knew it. Deep down, she'd known it right from the start, when her mother had first persuaded her to sign up for this.

And, to make matters worse, she couldn't sulk or make demands of James, because she had asked for his silence once, too, and he had done just that, never telling her parents where she'd been that night, never telling anyone that she had been _there._ He had saved her from so many awkward questions, and kept her secret. And now she owed him.

Whoever the man was who her parents were planning to introduce her to, she was going to have to walk into this process blind. She truly would be finding out who she was supposed to marry on live television, at the same time as the rest of the country.

With another sigh, she took James's arm (trying not to grip too tight) so that he could lead her out of the television room.

"Oh, and Mary?" a voice called out to her, just before she could step out of the room.

She turned around and saw Narcisse, who was standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded and a calculating expression on his face.

With James's not-so-welcome arrival, Mary had almost forgotten that her Publicist was still here.

"Whoever you see in that studio this afternoon, remember-do _not_ let any worry show on your face. Keep that poker face well and truly in place."

In spite of a fresh wave of fear that washed over her at Narcisse's words, Mary couldn't help rolling her eyes. Already, it seemed typical of Narcisse to use a poker reference in his instructions to her. It seemed like the sort of game that he would be good at, like chess.

Feeling too nervous to protest at the moment, Mary simply nodded at him before she followed James out of the room.

* * *

Her parents were not permitted to take her the Throne Room. It went against the rules of the process, as there were fears that they could accidentally reveal something to her in advance of the start of the show, and her reaction to seeing the man they wanted her to marry was supposed to be natural and organic after all-not polluted by any outside influence. So, it had been decided that James would have the dubious honour of walking with her.

She walked down several corridors and flights of stairs arm-in-arm with her older brother, treading over more blue carpets and glancing at several exquisite paintings and suits of armour along the way.

As they walked, Mary couldn't help thinking about how even though everything in the castle looked the same, the tense atmosphere all around them made everything seem different somehow: darker, more gloomy. Or maybe she was just allowing her nerves to warp her perception of the castle right now, as though what was on the outside was merely a reflection of what was going on within.

When they reached the final corridor on the ground floor that led to the Throne Room, James let go of her arm. The movement was only gentle, but still, Mary almost felt a jolt of pain in her arm. It was as though some sort of tie had been severed between the two of them.

Her brother open and closed his mouth several times, like he was trying to come up with something important to say, but in the end he gave up, simply nodding at her before he started to walk away in the opposite direction, heading towards the other side of the Throne Room, where he would enter through a more discreet side door and take his seat next to Mary's mother.

James could only take her so far. Now, she would have to take this part of the journey on her own.

She took slow, tentative steps down the corridor, almost back to walking on tiptoes.

_He's in there,_ she couldn't help thinking to herself, even though she wasn't sure who 'he' was.

She shook her head as though to clear it. It seemed like too big a thought to have right now. In order to get through this, she would have to treat today like a straightforward royal event, a negotiation, or a political meeting. A meeting she simply had to get through before she could start considering other, future events.

On either side of her stood the castle's guards, all of them dressed in black uniforms and holding weapons. The guards were a requirement now, in every part of the castle, since the threats and the riots had rapidly increased over the past few years, but that didn't make them any less intimidating.

Mary knew that they were here for her protection, for her family's protection. Her mother had told her this, over and over. And yet, as she continued to walk nervously down the corridor, she felt almost as though they were not in fact protecting her but were instead holding her here, in this corridor; holding her prisoner in the castle.

As she got further down the corridor however, closer to the door leading to the Throne Room, she saw someone who lightened her mood a little.

"Aloysius!" she called out with a smile, temporarily abandoning all protocol as she ran the last few steps towards him.

A few of the guards looked a bit disgruntled, but they didn't tell her off, the way they would have done back when she was a child.

"Mary!" he called back to her. His smile was kind as he held out his arms for a hug.

Mary's mother had known Aloysius, back when she'd been a politician and he'd been a member of the Scottish equivalent of the House of Lords.

Nowadays, after several successful appearances on various political panel shows and royal documentaries, Aloysius's career seemed to be more focused on the world of television. Mary had seen him conduct many an on-screen interview with royals and celebrities alike, and she therefore guessed that he had been selected to present this strange television show today, and to carry out the initial interviews.

For all of her other emotions at the moment, Mary couldn't help feeling relieved that there would at least be a familiar, friendly face on the stage with her today.

"How are Greer and the children?" she asked him with another smile after they'd hugged, almost forgetting for a moment that she was about to appear on television in front of the whole country.

"Oh, fine, wonderful!" he replied, beaming proudly. "They're all very busy, of course, getting ready for the wedding!"

Mary felt a rush of excitement on her friend Greer's behalf.

Back at school in London, Greer had been in a relationship with a boy called Leith. The two of them had often been nicknamed 'the model pupils', and they'd been Head Girl and Head Boy together in their final year.

Everyone at school, Mary included, had just assumed that Greer and Leith would get married one day, but, much to Mary's surprise, the two of them seemed to have drifted apart after they left school, and they'd broken up not long after.

One evening, Mary had introduced her friend to Aloysius Castleroy at a political party her mother had organised, and they hadn't looked back since.

Now, nothing seemed to make Greer happier than spending time with her fiancé and her soon-to-be-stepchildren.

It was strange, how life worked out, how things changed. How people changed.

"Well, tell them that I'm looking forward to the wedding, too," Mary told him. And she really meant it. She couldn't wait to be a bridesmaid for the girl who had been her closest friend at school. "Greer's wedding, I mean," she added hastily, as though she really needed to clarify this. She couldn't yet comprehend the idea that her mother was expecting _her_ to be planning a wedding of her own in three months' time.

"I'll pass on your best wishes," he beamed at her. "So, are you ready for today?" he started to ask, before they were interrupted by a woman leaning around the Throne Room door, wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard. She was no doubt a member of the television crew.

"Lord Castleroy?" said the woman, after she'd nodded curtly in greeting in Mary's direction. "We're ready for you now. Princess, if you could just wait out here for a few more minutes?"

Aloysius nodded, all-professional now.

"I'll see you soon, Princess Mary," he told her with a quick bow before he went to follow the woman into the Throne Room.

"I'll see you soon, Lord Castleroy," Mary told him with a bow of her own just before he left, trying to sound cool, calm, professional, the way that he had just done.

In the presence of others, at a time of royal duty, they had to revert back to titles and protocol.

The door closed with what seemed like a loud echo in the almost-empty corridor. Again, Mary was left alone, with only the guards for company.

As she paced anxiously outside the door, she passed the time by thinking about all the rules of this process, this television show; rules that her mother had 'helpfully' printed out and put together as one large document, which she always left displayed on Mary's desk for 'extra reading'…

According to the rules, her parents were supposed to take charge of this matchmaking process. They were supposed to find her a suitable match, and they were supposed to offer their reasons for their choice in various interviews along the way, explaining their decision on both a personal and a professional level.

There would be an official opening ceremony, where the television crew could film the initial meeting (and get a good look at the castle while they were at it).

Her mother was probably up on stage at this very moment, giving her first interview as the show got started. Or maybe James was giving some sort of opening speech, the way he always did at official events.

After the opening ceremony, there would be an opening party, or a ball, more accurately, which the cameras were also allowed to film.

Then, Mary would have three months to get to know her potential husband, before she had to make a final decision on television at the closing ceremony as to whether or not a proposal would be happening.

Along the way, she and her match would be expected to appear in interviews together, to attend events as a couple, to meet each other's family and friends, to get a taste of what day to day life together would be like.

They would also be expected to go on dates, to make the show more interesting, and the public could even vote on several possible locations and settings for the dates.

The man would also be expected to plan several of the dates himself, to give Mary an idea of what he would be like when it came to romance, and an idea of a possible future life as a couple.

_Three months,_ Mary thought to herself as she continued to pace up and down. _It isn't long enough. There's never enough time. How will I know for sure?_

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the young woman from the television crew opened the door again.

"They're ready for you," she whispered, clearly trying to keep her voice down now that the cameras were rolling.

With a sigh, Mary headed towards the open door, only pausing so that the crew member could attach a microphone to her dress.

The show was about to start. Her show.

* * *

The chairs in the Throne Room had been positioned so that the audience members were facing away from Mary as she entered from the back of the room, but it didn't matter. The second she moved to stand in the doorway, everyone in the room turned in their chair to stare avidly at her.

Mary was tempted to run away. She wasn't used to this level of attention. Usually, people were looking at James, or at her mother, not at her.

But she couldn't run, not when the whole country was watching her. She had to be brave, the way that all her royal ancestors had been.

Mary held her head up high as she walked down the aisle that led to the raised platform at the front of the room, which was usually a platform where royal and political speeches were delivered.

Her mother's throne had been moved to the back of the room. It was only really used for show anyway. Modern queens did not spend their days sitting on thrones. Still, it made for some nice royal photos in tabloid magazines.

Perhaps everyone would say that Mary's tiara was just for show, too, but still, she wanted everyone to see it on her head; she wanted them to believe that she was a rightful member of the Scottish royal family, even if she had trouble believing it herself, sometimes.

As she walked, taking slow, dignified steps, Mary thought about the long-sleeved, black lace dress that she'd chosen to wear; she thought about the key on the black ribbon around her neck. They were her choices. She was going to do this on her own terms. She was _not_ going to lose herself along the way.

She was distracted for a moment by the sound of applause. She blinked and looked around the room, noticing that it was James who was applauding her.

Following their future king's lead, everyone else seated in the room started to do the same. Mary felt a little emotional at the gesture. This was James's attempt at showing her that he was with her, supporting her; it was his attempt at rallying others in the room to do the same, to make this process a bit easier.

With a quick smile at her brother, Mary continued to head towards the front of the room, where she was helped onto the raised platform by Lord Castleroy.

"Your Highness," he greeted her, with another bow, as though they had not just been making casual conversation outside.

"Lord Castleroy," Mary greeted him, with a curtsy this time. Her mother seemed to prefer it that way; she seemed to think it was more 'ladylike'. Mary really hoped that her voice wasn't shaking as she spoke.

She turned and looked out at her audience. For a few seconds, she was dazzled by the flashes coming from various phones and professional cameras. She blinked rapidly a few times, desperately trying to adjust to the flashes of light.

As the lights faded, Mary noticed that the room had been divided almost equally into four parts:

In one section of the audience sat her family and other royals.

She glanced at her father, who was grinning at her encouragingly. His red hair looked a bit of a mess, and a few buttons were fastened incorrectly on his shirt. Mary smiled fondly back at him as he waved at her. In many ways, he was her mother's complete opposite, but something about them as a married couple just worked. Perhaps they balanced each other out.

Mary looked again at James, who still seemed tense and nervous, and he was currently refusing to look her in the eye.

Then, she chanced a glance at her mother, who was watching her with pursed lips as she took in her dress and her jewellery. Apparently, her mother didn't approve of her choice of outfit.

She couldn't help noticing that her mother looked pale and drawn today, and there were dark circles under her eyes. And she'd been looking so well lately, too...

More than anything, Mary hoped that she wasn't ill again. She remembered those dark days during her childhood, when her mother had been in and out of hospital. She remembered finding her in the woods one day, collapsed on the ground, when they were on a royal visit to some country or other…

Out of nowhere, an image of a tree and falling white petals appeared in Mary's mind. She blinked, wondering where that image had just come from, what it was about remembering her mother's illness that had conjured up the image in her mind. She blinked again and shook her head, telling herself firmly that she needed to focus. She was on live television, and she couldn't afford any distractions.

She looked around at her audience again.

In another section on the other side of the room sat various journalists and photographers, many of them holding up their phones or cameras as they filmed or took pictures of her.

There were also larger cameras being operated by a camera crew all around the room, along with several pieces of equipment attached to the ceiling, making sure to capture the show from every angle.

Every few seconds, a journalist would type something on their phone, or take notes on bits of paper. Mary could only hope that they would write positive comments about her, although she couldn't be sure.

Behind the journalists sat several members of the public who'd won various competitions and had therefore been invited to the castle today to see the show up close. They watched Mary eagerly, looking a lot more fascinated by her than anyone else in the room. Some even sat on the edge of their seats.

And, last but certainly not least, several of the palace staff sat behind the royal family, along with Mary's stylists and hair and makeup artists, and of course her new Publicist, Stephane Narcisse, at the end of a row of seats. He had apparently slipped into the room at some point while Mary had been waiting outside.

She noticed that Lola was watching him out of the corner of her eye from the other end of the row, where she was sitting. The second Narcisse turned to look at her, she blushed and turned away, trying to pretend that she hadn't been looking at him at all. Narcisse smirked. He had seen her looking. Mary suspected that he had been playing this game for a lot longer than Lola had.

Without thinking about it, Mary looked around the room to see if the boy with blue eyes was sitting there somewhere, or hiding away in a corner, ready to appear as her 'match', even though she knew that this would be highly unlikely. Of course he wasn't here.

To start, Castleroy asked her a few pre-prepared questions about life as a member of the Scottish royal family, and life in the castle. These were the things that members of the public always seemed to be strangely curious about.

"So, Mary," Lord Castleroy beamed at her, as soon as the preliminary questions were out of the way. "It's a big day for you today! How are you feeling about it?"

"I'm very…intrigued to see where this will go," Mary recited automatically, after she'd taken a few deep breaths to calm herself. Her voice sounded almost robotic. "I'm curious to see how this process will play out, and to see what might happen. And of course, the whole time, I will be thinking of Scotland, and acting on my country's behalf."

Discreetly, she glanced at Narcisse. He nodded at her and subtly gave her a thumbs-up. As he raised his hand in approval, some remnant of a memory, or perhaps just a sense of deja-vu seemed to strike her, but she couldn't quite place this feeling of eerie familiarity.

Narcisse might have approved of her words, but her mother didn't look very impressed. She shook her head in Mary's direction in obvious disapproval.

At the very least, the members of the public in the room seemed to be encouraged by her words about Scotland. They nodded and beamed at her as she spoke. Apparently, her mother had ensured that only the most patriotic subjects were invited here today.

"Well, without further ado," Castleroy smiled at her again, looking far more enthusiastic than Mary actually felt, "shall we introduce you to the man your parents are eager for you to see?"

Later, Mary would remember that he had _not_ said: 'The man your parents are eager for you to _meet_.'

Automatically, Mary nodded, the way she was supposed to.

Already, various members of the television crew were fussing about over on the left-hand side of the room, opening the door that led to a side room just off the Throne Room.

Mary tried to ignore the fact that her heart was beating fast, and the fact that her hands were starting to shake.

And then, the door opened, and a young man walked out of it.

With a gasp, Mary put her hand to her mouth as she blinked several times, as though she couldn't believe that this was actually happening.

Her eyes started to widen. Her heart beat even faster. She felt like she'd been frozen to the spot. It was as though time had stood still.

It was not the boy with blue eyes.

It was not a stranger.

She would recognise that wavy blond hair anywhere.

She would recognise the way he walked, tall and proud with his back straight, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression serious, tense.

" _Francis_ ," said Mary, the word pulled from her lips as she stared at him with wide eyes.

Surely this was a dream? Surely this wasn't actually happening?

"Ah, I see that you two already know each other!" Lord Castleroy joked with a jovial laugh, like this was all some sort of hilarious coincidence.

Even the audience had laughed as Mary said his name out loud.

Mary could barely react; there was no way she could fake a smile, or even speak right now.

Instead, she felt like the room was spinning, disappearing all around her as she plummeted into her deepest, darkest memory that had been triggered by the sight of the prince standing in front of her…

_She was sixteen years old. It was the middle of the night, and the moon and the stars were shining bright in the sky._

_She was walking slowly up the long path that led to the magnificent 'Chateau Valois', as her family always nicknamed it. She was not supposed to be here. After years of animosity between the two royal families, the Scots were not invited here tonight; they were not welcome among the Valois' friends anymore._

_The Scottish royal family was supposed to officially meet with the French royal family tomorrow at a public event in Paris, but the allure of a masked ball, and the thrill of sneaking out of her family's luxurious, everything-is-in-order hotel in the French countryside and into this forbidden castle right under the French royal family's nose had just been too tempting._

_Carefully, she adjusted the Venetian mask covering her face, hoping that the mask (and the additional makeup she'd applied) would be enough to conceal her identity._

_The pathway leading up to the castle was lined with journalists, photographers and various guests who were taking pictures of themselves with the cameras on their phones. It would be all too easy to accidentally appear on a picture._

_Every time she walked past a flashing light, Mary made sure to raise her hand, to cover the part of her face that wasn't already covered by the mask, or to brush her long hair in front of her face, further concealing herself._

_As she reached the end of the path, she successfully got past the first set of guards, but then her way was blocked by another pair of guards when she reached the front doors, both of them holding out their arms to prevent her from entering as they regarded her with suspicious expressions._

" _Who are you?" they demanded of her several times, both of their voices abrupt._

_The guards who worked at the French castle were known for their more aggressive tendencies. Deep down, Mary believed that their work ethic was merely a reflection of the attitude of the aggressive king who employed them._

_In broken French, Mary tried to tell parts of her semi-plausible backstory that she'd come up with in advance: it was the same story that she'd used along the path when she'd been questioned by other guests, where she used a false identity, taking on the name of a distant relative of the French royal family, mentioning an official invitation that she'd received by post. After years of practice, she was adept at sneaking around and covering her tracks._

_But neither of the guards seemed to believe her this time. They were just starting to get angry and make threats when-_

" _What's going on here?" she heard someone ask the guards in French._

_She looked up to see Francis Valois standing a few feet away from her, behind the guards and inside the castle's entrance hall._

_Mary felt a flicker of nerves, telling herself that she was panicking because she feared that she truly would be caught now. She looked at the floor, unable to look Francis in the eye. It had been a while, since they'd last seen one another. She remembered them being close friends, during childhood, but since they'd become teenagers, it always seemed like Francis went out of his way to avoid her, or like he simply shut down and acted more distant whenever she walked into a room._

_The guards turned their attention to Francis._

_Mary caught a few 'Your Highnesses' in their sentences, and she could just make out a few exclamations in French about how 'this girl' wasn't supposed to be here, while Francis shook his head, looking angry at the way they were speaking to him._

_Then, much to Mary's surprise-_

" _Let her in," Francis suddenly said in perfect English, with an accent that could rival those of the students from wealthy British families who had attended Mary's London school. "She is with me," he added when the guards continued to protest, as though this was explanation enough._

_Mary looked up in shock, and Francis looked her right in the eye. She had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly who she was, behind the mask, and that he was covering for her. Although she had no idea why he would do her a favour like that. Why he would allow her to enter the party. Why he would want her there._

_Finally, the guards relented and allowed her to pass._

_Mary walked past them and into the castle with slow, dignified steps, but she couldn't help smirking smugly at the guards when she caught their eye._

_On the other side of the entrance hall, she saw another man watching her. He appeared to be older than her, but she couldn't tell for sure, because he too was wearing a mask. He smirked at her when she got past the guards, and held up his wine glass to her as though in a toast to her success, like he was proud of her for getting one over on the French royals._

_Feeling slightly unnerved by the older stranger's actions, Mary looked back at Francis, who still seemed to be watching her, as though waiting for some sort of reaction._

_Mary was just about to thank him when-_

" _Francis, will you not talk to me tonight?" a girl with blonde hair and a French accent asked him, interrupting whatever it was that Mary had been about to say._

_The blonde girl was standing on the last step of the grand staircase that led into the castle entrance hall, and she held an open hand out to Francis before she beckoned him over to her, the gesture demanding, insistent._

_After a few moments, Mary recognised the girl as Olivia, who she knew from previous events to be Francis Valois' latest girlfriend._

" _Of course," Francis replied, as he instantly started to head over in Olivia's direction with a smile on his face, although the smile looked a little forced, almost as though the two of them had recently been arguing._

_Mary felt a flicker of something that felt like anger, or loss, although she wasn't sure why she felt that way._

_She hurried off in the direction of groups of other guests who were gathering in the long corridor that led to the ballroom, really feeling like she didn't want to be around Francis and Olivia right now, especially as they had just started to pose together for photographs taken by the press._

_Olivia seemed to glare suspiciously at her as she passed, as though she was trying to work out who her boyfriend had just been talking to._

_Eventually, Mary found her way to the ballroom, but not before she'd got into an animated discussion with a group of older men who seemed to find the whole party pointless and ridiculous._

_Mary had had fun, for a few minutes, making sarcastic comments along with them, using a mix of French and English. They were just the sort of people who she always befriended at royal events, much to her mother's dismay-those who seemed to share her bitterness and her cynicism about life as a royal. Secretly, she'd always thought that she would have made a good rebel in another life, rallying people around her as she spoke words of protest._

_The ballroom was as beautiful and as grand as ever, with its round tables, its polished floors, its dance floor, and its large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There was even a band playing live music while many people danced._

_Yet there was something overly polished, overly formal about the whole thing, something that made the party seem slightly unnatural: people were only talking about pre-approved topics; they were holding their cups in just the right way; they were dancing to well-rehearsed dances on the dance floor._

_Mary wanted to change all that; she wanted to make her presence here tonight felt, somehow._

_As the band picked up the tempo and the beat of the song got a little faster, Mary suddenly kicked off her shoes and ran to the middle of the dance floor, standing right under the chandelier._

_Laughing, she started to dance to her own beat, using her own moves, like she was just an ordinary teenage girl who happened to be out at a party._

_She felt younger than a teenager at the moment though-she felt like the little girl who'd laughed along with her older brother as the two of them had danced around the castle, without a care in the world. She could almost imagine that she'd once danced around this castle as a child, too, with someone who was not her brother._

_Several other guests seemed to take inspiration from her, and they joined her in the middle of the dance floor, dancing in circles around her._

_Quite a crowd had gathered to watch them by now, and with a smirk, Mary caught Catherine's eye. Francis's mother was watching her from the corner of the room with a glare and an expression of obvious disapproval. Apparently, Catherine had finally been informed that Mary Stuart, the daughter of a rival royal family, was here tonight._

_Catherine looked in Francis's direction, who had entered the ballroom at some point since Mary had started dancing. It was as though she was silently appealing to her son to do something, anything, to stop the spectacle that was playing out in front of her eyes, while Olivia also glared at Francis with folded arms from the other side of the room, but Francis didn't seem to see either of them at that moment._

_Instead, Mary noticed that he was watching_ her _, with an expression that was a strange mixture of surprise, disapproval and amusement. He even seemed to be fighting off a grin._

_With a grin of her own, Mary started to spin round and round in a circle on the spot, feeling more and more exhilarated every time she went around in yet another circle and she thought about how rare it was to see any sort of unguarded reaction from Francis at all; how rare it was for Francis to even look at her; but now, she seemed to have the prince's full attention, for some reason._

_As she span around, Mary was laughing at them all, mocking them for their titles and their protocol and their expectations. Laughing at Francis's father, Henry, who had just started to glare at her from the other side of the dance floor, where he was dancing with a woman with dark hair who was definitely not his wife._

_Mary was rebelling against all of it. Their judgement. Their hypocrisy._

_Without thinking about what she was doing, she raised her arms up in the air, in a gesture that she'd seen several rioters and protesters use in Scotland, although she wasn't sure what the gesture meant, or if there was even any meaning behind it at all._

_With her hands in the air, she continued to spin, almost feeling dizzy…_

_And that was when she heard it._

_An almost deafening crash echoed around the ballroom, bringing her to an abrupt halt._

_For a moment, she convinced herself that she'd simply imagined the noise, but then she heard another loud bang and a crash, followed by screaming as the people around her started to scatter._

_The walls and the floor of the ballroom seemed to shake with the impact, and several people stumbled to the floor as they tried to run._

_In what could have been minutes, or seconds, the glass in all of the windows shattered, and the shards of glass seemed to fall to the ground like waterfalls._

_At the same time, several glasses of wine dropped to the floor, the glasses breaking into pieces the moment they hit the ground._

_Mary remained on the spot, frozen with fear, not knowing what to do, how to act. It was as though years of royal training for situations like this had flown right out of the damaged windows._

_She couldn't see any face she recognised, which made her feel even more afraid; for as much as she disliked them, Mary couldn't help wondering where the French royal family had gone, whether they were safe._

_She was only spurred into action at the sound of more loud bangs, and the sound of various tables being upturned as the room descended into further confusion and chaos._

_She knew that she had to move from this spot, where the people around her were pushing and stumbling, making it difficult to see what was happening, putting her in further danger by their frantic actions, and causing her panic to increase with each passing second._

_She tore the mask from her face and started to run, pushing past people and using her hands to shield her head as glass from the lights on the ceiling started to rain down on her._

_What was going on? How had this happened?_

_She didn't know the answer to either of these questions. She couldn't even think. All she felt was fear, and confusion._

_For reasons unknown to her, she turned back to look at the spot on the dance floor that she'd just run away from, almost as though she'd left something behind._

_To her horror, Francis was standing right under the chandelier, in the place she'd just left. She could see the injured people lying all around him, and she realised that he'd run right into the centre of all the chaos at some point in an attempt to help those who were hurt. He looked just as shocked, just as terrified as she felt, but still he hadn't neglected his duty. Ever the prince, ever the royal, unlike her…_

_Francis was so distracted trying to help others up off the floor that he seemed oblivious to the sound of another loud bang that sounded suspiciously like an explosion, now that Mary was listening more carefully, along with the sound of the chandelier slowly detaching itself from the ceiling with a loud tearing noise._

_It was as though it happened in slow motion. One minute, Mary was standing on the other side of the room, watching in wide-eyed horror as the chandelier started to fall._

_Then, she was running, with some deep-rooted instinct pushing her forwards._

_One word was on her lips, one word that seemed to have been pulled up from somewhere deep inside: "Francis!" she screamed, as she ran towards him, her body now abandoning all attempts to run away from the chaos and instead focusing on pushing her back to it._

_And then she reached him. In one swift movement, she grabbed hold of Francis and pulled him away from the falling chandelier, just in time._

_The two of them fell to the floor due to the force that Mary had used to pull Francis out of harm's way._

_Only feet away from them, the chandelier crashed to the floor and shattered, the sound reverberating all around the room._

_In that moment, time seemed to stop._

_Francis held her tight, and she held him too, as though afraid to let him go, even though they had barely touched each other for years._

_They weren't friends. They weren't even allies. Francis had his whole life here, with his family and his girlfriend. A life that Mary had never been a part of._

_And yet, in that moment, something deep inside had taken over, and all she'd cared about was protecting him, saving him from that falling chandelier._

_The look of shock on Francis's face seemed to mirror her own inner confusion._

_She hoped he wouldn't ask her why she'd done what she'd just done. Why she hadn't just run away, left it to someone else to save him._

_She didn't know the answer._

" _Mary," he whispered, apparently unable to say anything else._

_They remained on the ground, holding on to each other, looking each other in the eye as the room and the noise seemed to fade to nothing around them._

_But all too soon, the moment was over._

_They were back, back in the noise, the panic, the horror._

_Mary heard more screaming. She heard Catherine, frantically calling out Francis's name._

" _You foolish, foolish girl!" Catherine would tell her later._

" _How dare you sneak into this castle!" Henry would shout at her later._

" _Mary, you could have put us all in danger," her brother would whisper to her later._

_Later, Olivia would be by Francis's side, frantically checking that he was okay, and Francis would embrace her._

_Later, Francis would sit with his mother, and his girlfriend, and his two younger brothers, holding them all close, protecting them, as though Mary had never even been there in the first place._

_Later, Mary would not talk to Francis; she would tell James that she didn't want to see Francis Valois ever again, when really, it was more that she_ couldn't _see him again, couldn't face him. She would not want to remember._

_But she didn't know any of that yet, as she lay on the floor in the castle ballroom. All she knew was a sharp burst of pain, as though her body was only just realising that she'd somehow been injured._

_All she knew was fear…_

And now she was back, back in the Throne Room in Scotland, back in her mother's castle, although a part of her was still sixteen years old and in that castle in France. A part of her was just as afraid as she had been back then.

For two years, she had kept that memory safely locked up.

And now, seeing Francis again, it had been unlocked, too fast, before she was ready to face it.

And time hadn't really stopped. Still, Mary was standing in front of a television crew, in front of Francis Valois, and she was supposed to pretend that all of it had never happened; she was supposed to offer some sort of reaction to seeing him again; she was supposed to perform for the cameras; she was supposed to do something, _anything_.

As she stared at Francis with wide eyes, her mind still lost in her memory, where she was spinning around over and over until she started to feel dizzy, going nowhere, three thoughts suddenly seemed to crash into her mind:

_He is a prince. He is the heir to his country's throne. He is a future king._

Then another thought appeared as a result, this one even more troubling:

_There is no escape now._


	4. Chapter 4

Later, Mary would have no idea how she got through her television appearance.

For several moments after she'd found her way out of _that_ memory, she felt as though she was underwater somehow, with every sound around her seeming rather muffled and distant.

The walls seemed to be spinning a little, and Mary had to silently convince herself that she was only imagining this sensation, out of a genuine fear that she might actually faint right there on the stage.

The people in the audience also seemed to look a bit blurry, with their faces no longer seeming clear or distinct.

Except one face in particular.

Francis Valois continued to stand there, right in the centre of the room, right in front of Mary, with that same serious look on his face.

Francis's hands were still clasped tightly behind his back. Every few seconds, he looked in the direction of the room's windows, almost as though he was silently plotting his escape. He looked as though he would rather be anywhere but in this Throne Room right now.

He was dressed all in black, Mary now noticed, just like she was, which probably created the strange impression to the audience that the two of them were in mourning.

Francis's father, Henry, had also arrived in the room at some point, apparently having travelled to Scotland with his son, and he now stood leaning against the back wall with his arms folded and a stern expression on his face. He even sneered at Mary a few times, as though silently trying to let her know that he didn't believe she was good enough for his son.

As Mary looked back and forth between father and son, she couldn't help thinking about how alike the two of them looked right now, with matching stern expressions and dark clothing. This thought made her feel dizzy all over again.

For the few seconds that the focus was off her, Mary managed to catch her mother's eye. Trying to be as subtle as possible, she shook her head slowly as she continued to look right at the Queen of Scotland, trying to let her know just how disappointed she was in her.

She could tell from her mother's expression that this gesture had thrown her-she was used to Mary expressing her disappointment through shouting, or complaining, or sneaking out of the castle to get away from everyone.

As the show dragged on, Mary was fairly sure she managed to say 'yes' and 'no' whenever a question from Lord Castleroy required an answer, and she was almost certain she managed to use a few more pre-approved phrases that Narcisse had taught her, focusing on how she was waiting to see what would happen, now that the process had officially got started, but she couldn't clearly remember exactly what she'd said.

At last, Aloysius asked his final question, and Mary managed to mumble an answer.

Then, as was expected, Francis bowed to her, mumbling something about how he was honoured to go through this matchmaking process with her.

There was no emotion behind his words. He sounded like he was on autopilot; like he was going through the motions; like he was just here to do his duty.

"The honour is mine," Mary responded, the way she had been taught to do, her tone of voice probably sounding just as flat.

Francis turned away from her and started to walk back in the direction he'd come from-back towards the door leading to the side room.

He would be required to stay close to the Throne Room for a little while longer so he could give a few interviews to the waiting journalists, and then Mary would be expected to appear with him again later, at the party.

The audience applauded once more as the show started to come to a close.

* * *

The moment the cameras stopped rolling, Mary practically ripped the microphone away from her dress. She'd been taught the correct method to remove microphones, what with all the television appearances that were required of the royal family, but right now, she didn't care about being slow and careful.

She couldn't take it anymore, and she just had to get out of this room, away from the cameras and the journalists and this whole performance. Away from what was expected of her.

She was acting out of fear, not out of duty.

After she'd thrown the microphone onto the nearest chair, she ran off the stage and towards the door before anyone standing close to her could stop her.

She heard a few words of protest from her mother, but then she heard James's command of, "Let her go!"

Thankfully, this time, her mother listened to her son.

And then Mary was out the door, running through the corridors, getting as far away from the Throne Room as she could.

She ran across the castle's entrance hall, up a couple of flights of stairs and down a few more hallways.

For a moment, she was sure she saw someone else in one of the corridors, standing just around a corner, almost like they were spying on her, but when she slowed down a little to check, there was nobody there. Deciding that she had only imagined it, Mary picked up the pace again.

Finally, she arrived just outside the television room. She hadn't even known that this was the direction she'd been running in; her feet had just taken her back here.

* * *

With adrenaline still running through her body, she pushed open the door leading to the room, practically tripping over the door's threshold, then, when she was safely inside, she slammed the door shut and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.

Somebody had left the widescreen television on. On the screen, Mary could see some kind of panel show taking place, where a team of celebrity journalists and royal columnists were analysing the opening ceremony.

Every few seconds, an image of Mary standing on the stage in the Throne Room appeared on the screen. Mary chanced a glance at the images, realising that she looked like a rabbit trapped in headlights in every single shot.

Images of Francis also appeared on the screen as the panelists continued to debate and analyse the show. Francis looked equally unenthusiastic, although if he had been nervous at all, he had done a much better job than Mary at hiding his nerves, if the images on the television screen were anything to go by, anyway.

In another sudden burst of anger, Mary threw her tiara onto the nearest sofa, messing up her hair as she removed it. It wasn't enough. With another sigh of exasperation, she took off one of her shoes and flung it across the room. She was tempted to throw it right at the television screen, but she knew it wouldn't be worth the lecture from her mother if the glass screen shattered.

_How could you do this?!_ she desperately wanted to scream at every single member of her family. _How could you even think about putting me through this?! With him, of all people?!_

All this time, she'd imagined that her parents would perhaps try to set her up with someone who worked in politics-someone who her mother had connections with through her previous role in government.

Or maybe even someone of noble birth who also happened to be a trained accountant, just like her father had been, back when he first met Mary's mother-someone who could help balance the royal family's books and manage money that never seemed to be there when they needed it.

But no, of course her parents hadn't found her someone like that. They'd decided to set her up with someone who was the _heir to the throne_ of a rival country; an _enemy_ country, if she was going to be truly honest.

They'd set her up into some sort of twisted political alliance. They'd set her up into _royalty_. They'd set her up into her own worst nightmare.

Regardless of what had happened that night at the French castle, she thought to herself, did they not know how difficult it would be for her to back out of this, now that there was another royal family to consider?

This would not be like going on a dating show and simply deciding not to meet someone again after a bad first date. Things were different, when royalty was involved. If Mary quit this process, the French royal family would take it as a personal insult. There would be repercussions, both diplomatic and political. It would therefore be almost impossible to get out of this, even with very valid excuses.

For so long, Mary had simply played along when it came to doing her royal duty. Deep down, she'd always hoped that one day when she was grown up, she'd be able to get away from it all, one way or another.

She'd pictured her older brother, James, as king, with his wife and children by his side; children who would take her over in the line of succession and be heirs to the throne. When that happened, Mary's presence would no longer be required at the castle.

She'd assumed that she'd finally be free to move away; free to marry someone who lived a normal life; free to choose her own career; free to set up home in another town, or city, or country.

She'd spent many a happy hour as a teenager, imagining moving to Edinburgh, or maybe even London, where she'd work in politics or law or international relations, or maybe she'd even set up her own art studio, if she was lucky enough. She would live in a house, not a castle; a house that resembled her doll's house, with her little family…

But that wasn't going to happen now. Her parents had seen to that.

Why hadn't she guessed before now? Why hadn't she even imagined that they'd do something like this? Why hadn't she predicted that they would try to block the door that marked her final chance of escape?

_You foolish, foolish girl!_

Catherine's voice rang out in her head, almost taunting her.

If she married Francis, who was the heir to _his_ country's throne, Mary would one day be a _queen_. She would have to take on all the royal duties and requirements that went with the role, and there would be no getting away from royalty then. She would be pressured to give birth to children, not out of her own desire to have a family, but out of a requirement to produce heirs to the French throne.

With a gasp that sounded suspiciously like a sob, Mary was hit by a fresh wave of horror as she thought about the fact that her parents wanted her to marry into the _Valois_ family, of all the royal families in the world.

There was Francis's father, King Henry, who ruled with fear and saw the law as a black and white process with no blurred lines or exceptions, especially when he was the one who was enforcing it. His staff and subjects alike seemed to be terrified of him.

And of course there was Queen Catherine, who although she was adored by her subjects, could be calculating and manipulative behind closed doors, where her behaviour usually depended on what mood she was in on any given day, and the 'innocent, kindly mother' act often appeared to be just that-an act.

Then there was Francis, who could barely even look at her. Francis, who tensed up and looked away whenever she walked into a room. Francis, who had been right there on that terrible night. Francis, who probably still had a girlfriend. Francis, who always seemed to put his country and his role as its prince first. Francis, who was no doubt only here in Scotland out of duty to France.

As a sense of panic started to overwhelm her, taking over her anger, Mary's breath came out in rapid gasps.

She felt something wet trickle down her cheek, and she realised that she really was crying now.

Still struggling to catch her breath, she grabbed hold of the back of the nearest chair for support.

As she cried, her memories washed over her again like waves…

_She was on the floor in the castle ballroom. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she'd first been spinning around in circles, but it seemed almost like she'd lived a whole lifetime in the terrible moments that had followed the first loud crash._

_At the very least, the worst of the panic seemed to be over now._

_Francis sat a few feet away from her, looking equally dazed and confused. They must have separated at some point, after their moment of holding each other tight in the midst of the horror._

_With a heavy sigh, Mary pushed herself up into a seated position, feeling a jolt of pain in her arm as she did so._

_Catherine was running towards her across the dance floor, a look of fury in her eyes. "You foolish, foolish girl!" she screamed at her._

_But then, when she got close, she threw herself down on the floor and pulled Mary in for a hug. "Thank you," she whispered in Mary's ear, sounding almost tearful, and slightly hysterical; as unpredictable as ever. "Thank you for saving my son."_

_Mary barely had time to acknowledge Catherine's words when she heard Henry shouting at her, something about how furious he was that she had dared to sneak into the castle._

_She couldn't really take in what he was saying, as she was starting to feel dizzy, and everything around her was starting to fade to blackness…_

_She woke up in the hospital wing, realising that she much have blacked out, and that several hours must have passed since she'd been lying on the ballroom floor, as she could see the faint light of dawn outside the windows._

_As she sat up slowly, the first person she noticed was her brother, walking slowly towards her hospital bed with a grave expression on his face._

" _James," she whispered automatically, the need to cover her tracks already kicking in before she could start considering anything else, "please don't ask me why I'm here. Please don't tell anyone I'm here…"_

_He nodded solemnly, silently agreeing to her plea._

_Suddenly feeling confused as to why James was there in the first place, Mary looked around the room. She noticed that Catherine was standing on the opposite side of the hospital wing, in a far corner, close to Francis's hospital bed._

_When she caught Mary's eye, she nodded discreetly at her, and Mary realised that this was Catherine's subtle way of paying her back for helping Francis-by summoning her brother here. By calling on the one person who Mary could trust completely._

_Catherine did not like to be in anyone's debt. Now, she would consider this particular debt to be paid, and she would have free rein to insult Mary and her family again at some point._

_At the very least, Catherine had not called for Mary's parents. The secret was still safe, for now._

_Francis's younger brothers were also standing by his bed, next to Catherine, and every few seconds, Francis pulled them both in for a hug, like he was just relieved that they were all right, and he wanted to be close to them._

" _Mary," James whispered, pulling Mary's attention back to him, "be very careful what you say and do. They're watching," he added, rather ominously._

_Mary frowned at him in confusion. She wasn't sure what James meant. Not then. Everything still seemed a little hazy, and it was hard to think. Among the confusion, she did notice that James was dressed in very smart clothes, and his hair was perfectly styled. Almost as though he'd already been out somewhere when Catherine had called him. She wondered where he could possibly have been. As far as she knew, he'd already been asleep in his room at the hotel when she'd sneaked out._

_She was just about to ask James what he was talking about when she was distracted by another noise..._

" _Francis! Francis!" she heard someone call out from the doorway, sounding frantic._

_Mary looked over in time to see Olivia, running dramatically towards Francis's hospital bed, before she practically fell on top of him, throwing her arms around his neck as she embraced him._

_Mary watched the two of them, the perfect couple, surrounded by Francis's family, and more than ever she felt like an outsider; an intruder on this family moment._

" _James," she whispered, her voice cracking a little as she pleaded with her brother, "we have to get out of here…"_

_And so the two of them crept out through one of the windows while no one was watching, trying to be as discreet as possible while they walked down the long path and out of the castle gates, so as to not draw attention to themselves, only breaking into a run when the castle was safely in the distance and they were back out in the French countryside._

" _Mary, you could have put us all in danger," James eventually whispered to her as they made their way through a forest on their way back to the hotel, almost as though the trees could actually overhear them. In that moment, James was no longer a concerned older brother but was instead a nervous future king; a king who was worried about the fate of his own country. "You could easily have been accused of being behind that attack! The king was talking about taking you in for questioning…"_

* * *

Mary continued to sob, not even sure if she was so upset because all the memories were still flooding back into her mind, or because the full weight of her family's betrayal had finally hit her.

"Please, Mary?"

Mary jumped at the sound of a voice coming from the doorway.

Hurriedly trying to wipe her eyes, and trying to compose herself, even though she knew it wouldn't be much use, she turned around quickly to see who had entered the room.

A member of the castle's staff was standing in the doorway. Mary hadn't even heard her come in. The woman looked smart in her suit, but she also looked slightly awkward at having intruded on Mary's private moment of anguish. There was a look of urgency on her face, like she was here on somebody else's orders.

Mary sighed, wondering what her mother could _possibly_ want now.

"Please, Mary," the woman repeated, "Francis Valois has asked to speak with you."

Mary felt her eyes widen in shock. She hadn't expected to see Francis again until later at the ball. What did he want to speak to her about?

This was so much worse than an order from her mother.

A sense of panic, and anxiety, set in. Francis couldn't see her like this.

"Tell him I'll meet with him in half an hour, in one of the official meeting rooms," she instructed the member of staff, trying to keep her voice level, even.

She could barely even think straight, with a couple of tears still falling slowly down her cheeks, and her heart still beating fast.

"I'm sorry, Princess," the woman told her, looking genuinely concerned. "He's here right now. He said it was urgent."

Mary stared back at the woman in open-mouthed shock. _Why did you let him up here without my permission?_ she really wanted to shout at her.

This could not happen again. Just because Francis was an heir to a throne, it did not mean that he held any authority over this castle and the Scottish staff. He held no authority over _her_.

But then, there was no more time to think about all that, because Francis was standing in the doorway.

For a moment, Marry almost forgot about her nerves, as she was so surprised by the sight of the prince in front of her.

She saw that Francis must have changed out of his dark clothes at some point since the show had ended, because he was now dressed in a faded pair of jeans and a casual white jumper-an outfit that Mary would _never_ have pictured him wearing. She was so used to his sharp designer suits and black clothes, and of course his crown.

His blond hair also looked a bit messy-a sharp contrast to before, when it had been so perfectly styled for his television appearance.

Not to mention the fact that something about the expression on his face seemed softer, less guarded now. He still looked nervous, but nowhere near as tense as he'd seemed before.

He shuffled into the room, looking just as uncertain as Mary felt.

Mary knew that she must look ridiculous, with her tear-streaked cheeks and messy hair, and a shoe missing from her right foot, but she simply sat down slowly on the nearest chair and stared as though transfixed as Francis moved to stand right in front of her, shuffling from one foot to the other, as though he was actually trying to decide what to do, now that he had her attention.

Mary continued to watch him with a frown. He looked nothing like the stern, serious prince who had stood in front of her in the Throne Room. She had no idea what had brought about this sudden change.

A thought suddenly occurred to her: perhaps this was how he dressed and acted when he wasn't out in public, being his country's prince.

"Mary," he finally whispered after a long, tense silence, his eyes full of concern.

He spoke in perfect English, with a flawless British accent. Anyone meeting him for the first time would probably not even be aware right away that most of his family members were French.

Yet Mary knew that he spoke French perfectly, too-she had heard him, in many an official speech that he had given in his home country.

Mary suspected that the years he had spent at school in London (just like her) were responsible for his perfect command of the English language.

She couldn't help remembering all those evenings when she'd caught glimpses of him in the city, back when she had been sneaking out of her school.

She'd been so full of curiosity at the time as to where Francis was going, on those evenings when he passed her in the streets. Given his status as a royal, Mary had imagined all sorts of sordid places that he must have been visiting-bars and clubs that only those who held high up positions in society were allowed access to.

She'd also pictured all the pretty girls who Francis was probably meeting with in secret in London. Girls his parents wouldn't have approved of, maybe.

Some nights, Mary had even followed him, just to see where he was actually going, feeling ridiculous as she watched him from around corners, trying to keep her distance and be discreet.

But Francis had simply walked and walked, for miles and miles, night after night, going nowhere in particular, apparently happy to walk the streets alone, lost in his thoughts.

Mary felt herself blush as she wondered what Francis would think now, if he ever found out that she'd followed him so many times back then. How ridiculous it would seem to him. How ridiculous it still seemed to her, especially on a day like today. She wasn't even sure why she'd done it.

"I'm so, so sorry," said Francis, pulling Mary back to the present.

Mary looked up at him, unable to help her expression of total confusion, as she wondered why he was apologising; why he was now being so kind to her.

"I know you would never have wanted this," he continued as he started to pace up and down in front of her. "I know you would never have chosen…this, if you'd been given any choice in the matter."

_I know you would never have chosen me…_ she could practically hear him saying as she read between the lines of his words.

"I want you to know, I wasn't responsible for this mess; I didn't ask for any of this...I would never have pushed you into it."

Still his voice was kind, gentle, apologetic.

Mary was sure she was expected to respond in some way, but right now, she couldn't find the words. She was still too shocked.

"Especially after that night," he mumbled as he stopped pacing and turned to face her.

Mary felt her whole body tense.

"I really am sorry that you got caught up in it all-"

"Francis," Mary interrupted him sharply, surprising even herself. "You must not apologise for that night…" She paused for a moment, trying to think. "I was not allowed to be there, and I chose to sneak in anyway." The words seemed to be leaving Mary's lips before her thoughts could catch up. "I put myself in danger. If anything, I should be apologising to you."

Mary hadn't even realised that this was how she felt, but as she spoke these words out loud, she knew them to be true. Her body relaxed a little, as though some of the tension that she'd been carrying for the past two years was slowly leaving her shoulders. Already, some of the burden of that night had eased, now that she had taken some responsibility for her part in it.

"I helped you to get in," Francis protested. "I would never have forgiven myself, if anything had happened to you…"

Mary blinked rapidly again, feeling overwhelmed by his words, by the act of putting the memory of that night into words. She had to admit though that it was a bit easier, to talk about that awful night with Francis when he speaking to her as a person, and not as a prince.

Although, she didn't really understand what Francis was saying, when he talked about how he would not have forgiven himself if she'd been harmed.

She didn't even understand the change that had come over him since their meeting in the Throne Room half an hour ago.

All of it was too much to process right now.

Mary felt a fresh wave of tears starting to well up, and she furiously tried to blink them back. She couldn't cry in front of Francis. She already looked a mess, but she didn't want to look weak and vulnerable as well.

He must have sensed, however, that she was on the verge of tears, as a look of sympathy crossed his face, and he suddenly knelt down right in front of her, looking almost as though he would have taken hold of her hand to comfort her, if he'd known her better.

"If there's anything I can do to make this process easier," he said gently from where he was kneeling on the floor, "then just let me know. I can stay out of your way behind the scenes, if you'd prefer. And perhaps we can find a way to work together when we're on camera for the next few weeks, so we can both get through this?"

_So we can both get through this…_

Mary repeated his words in her head. Of course he didn't want to be here. Of course he didn't want to go through this. Like her, he had had no choice in the matter. Others had brought him here; others had pushed him into this.

What a bizarre matchmaking show this was already turning out to be. How the viewing public would laugh, if they knew the truth. Mary would almost have laughed herself, if not for the fact that the reality of the situation already made her want to cry.

"I think that would be a good idea," Mary chose to say out loud, trying to sound as dignified as possible, even though she knew she looked anything but right now.

In spite of everything, she decided that it would probably be better to work _with_ Francis to get through this, rather than against him. If anything, he seemed to understand the pain she was going through right now.

Francis nodded, seemingly satisfied with this agreement that they'd just made, but then there was suddenly a look of anguish, or maybe even pain on his face, almost as though there was something else he had not said out loud, some other secret that was troubling him.

"Francis, please do not feel guilty," Mary told him, deciding that some lingering feeling of guilt over that night must still be getting to him.

Francis looked taken aback for a moment, but then he looked right at her, and he actually managed a hint of a smile, which almost made Mary smile back at him, through her tears.

She opened her mouth to say something else-

Suddenly the door burst open, making them both jump.

"Excellent performance today, Princess…"

As the sound of Narcisse's voice rang out around the room, Francis's expression instantly changed from soft and gentle to cold, almost angry; much more like his father.

He also seemed to go pale, as though the sound of that voice had filled him with a sense of shock, or disbelief.

He stood up slowly from his position on the floor, staring at Narcisse as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Narcisse strode confidently into the room, but he stopped when he realised that Francis was also there, with Mary.

Instead of looking apologetic, a smug smirk seemed to creep slowly to his face.

Mary looked from one to the other, trying to work out what was going on.

"What are you doing here?" Francis asked Narcisse sharply as he folded his arms and glared at him.

"Oh, hasn't anyone told you yet?" Narcisse asked him with a sneer, sounding a bit patronising. "I'm Mary Stuart's new Publicist. So it looks like you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other…"

At this announcement, Francis seemed to go even paler. He shook his head, as though he couldn't believe what was happening. "We'll see," he muttered, cryptically.

Narcisse ignored him. "Shall we find you the perfect dress for the ball tonight, Your Highness?" he asked Mary with another smirk. "Something that will show the French royal family who's in charge-"

"I'm sure that Mary will look beautiful in whatever she _chooses_ to wear tonight," Francis interrupted him. It sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth.

Then, he suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable, as though he had just said something he shouldn't have said. His cheeks even looked a little flushed.

"We'll see," Narcisse shot back at him, sounding smug.

Mary still had no idea what was going on. She felt like she was missing something in this conversation; like she wasn't reading between the lines properly. She wondered what the history was between the two of them, as they clearly knew each other from somewhere.

Now that she was listening more carefully, Mary could definitely pick up on a hint of a French accent when Narcisse spoke. She hadn't noticed that before. What else hadn't she noticed?

"I'll leave you to get ready," Francis told Mary with a polite nod, his voice suddenly gentle again.

Narcisse smirked again, his expression triumphant, as though he had somehow won this round.

"Just so you know, Mary," Francis added, as he started to walk out of the room, "we have our own team here with us from France, should you require the assistance of any _competent_ staff members. " He made sure to glare at Narcisse as he said this. "We also have a team of highly trained _guards_ , should they be required," he added with a meaningful look in Narcisse's direction, before he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, that was rude," said Narcisse, the moment Francis left. He seemed rather amused by the exchange.

"What was all that about?" Mary asked Narcisse suspiciously.

"No idea," Narcisse responded with a shrug.

_Of course he knows,_ Mary thought to herself as the rest of the Publicity Team returned to the television room. _He just won't tell you._

Narcisse had known all along that her parents would be setting her up with Francis Valois, too, Mary suddenly realised, as she thought about the events of the past couple of hours. She remembered how he'd bowed to her earlier, addressing her as 'Your Majesty' with a smirk on his face. She remembered how determined he'd been that she play this game very carefully, that she appear as a worthy opponent. All of that wouldn't have seemed so important, if Narcisse hadn't been fully aware in advance of the royal status of her 'opposition'.

She would have to be careful with Narcisse, she decided.

* * *

All too soon, the hair and makeup team had also arrived in the room, all of them eager to get started on getting her ready for the party this evening.

Mary found herself seated in front of a mirror, where everyone either fussed over her hair or frantically wiped the tears stains from her cheeks as they fixed her smudged mascara.

Mary ignored them, taking out her phone so she could have a look on the Internet for the initial reactions to today's show.

Already, people were making photo collages of her and Francis together on various social media sites, speculating as to what they would be like as a couple, and whether they looked like a good match.

Some viewers had also typed out all sorts of scenarios for imagined conversations that could take place after their meeting in the Throne Room, and others had written stories about their upcoming first dates.

It was almost as though the two of them were celebrities, or a fictional couple from the stories that Mary loved to read so much, and not real people with royal duties to fulfill.

She couldn't help sighing to herself as she continued to read all the posts about today's show, and the familiar feeling of despair threatened to take over again.

Things still looked fairly terrible, from where she was sitting, but after her conversation with Francis just now, she felt almost as though the exit door that her parents had tried so hard to seal had opened up a little, with Francis's help.

Neither of them had chosen this process, but Francis had at least offered to work with her, to help make things easier.

_It's a start,_ she told herself.

As the disorder continued all around her in the television room, Mary put her phone down and allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts for a little while.

She'd been a broken woman, after that night at the French castle. Or a broken girl, more accurately. She'd managed to cover the bruises and the scratches with clever choices of outfits, of course, but the look of anguish on her face had been much harder to conceal; it had taken a lot more time to fade.

She had been so afraid, afraid that something like that would happen again, especially with all the threats against the royal family from the rioters and the protesters in Scotland.

She'd also been so scared that the French royal family would act upon Henry's threat to question her about the attack; that they would invent a false allegation.

It had been all too easy, back then, for her mother to convince her to leave her school in London and move back to Scotland permanently, where she would be under the watchful eye of the Scottish royal family twenty-four hours a day.

She'd spent her days drifting almost aimlessly around the castle, not knowing what to do with herself. She'd stared mournfully out of the windows all day, and suffered from nightmares all night.

And, in this state of fear and numbness, she'd allowed herself to be convinced to sign up for this whole matchmaking process in the first place, believing all the staff when they told her that she would be helping Scotland, that she would be providing the perfect distraction, which could reduce all the tension and the protests in the country.

The television show was something that she would probably never have agreed to, before that night in the French castle.

It was ironic, she couldn't help thinking to herself, as the discarded tiara was placed back on her head; that the prince who had helped to lead her down this path in the first place would now be joining her on the journey…


	5. Chapter 5

"Most girls would be _thrilled_ at the prospect of getting to date a prince…"

Mary blinked a few times, distracted. For the past few moments, she had been staring into the full-length mirror in the television room, getting a clear view of the dress she would be wearing for the ball, but Narcisse's words pulled her out of her daydream.

He was standing to her side, and Mary could see his refection in the mirror.

"Not me," she told him firmly, determinedly. She was not in the mood to play games right now.

Narcisse simply shrugged and smirked. He seemed almost impressed by her answer, and Mary imagined that she had passed yet another one of his mysterious tests.

"I hope the dress is to your liking, at least?" he asked her, almost dubiously, when Mary went back to staring at the dress in the mirror.

This evening gown was made of black silk, and it was rather more elegant than the lace dress she'd worn earlier. Her stylists had also accessorised the expensive dress with even more expensive jewellery, which included diamond earrings and necklaces and bracelets. And of course her tiara. She was almost dazzled, every time the glittering jewels reflected back at her through the mirror. And not in a good way.

"I know it perhaps wouldn't be your own personal choice," Narcisse added. He actually sounded a bit apologetic, this time.

Mary sighed. She had tried her best, in the time since Francis had left the room, to persuade the Publicity Team to allow her to wear a dress of her choice tonight, the way she had done for the opening ceremony, but this time, Narcisse hadn't granted her wish.

He'd gone on and on about how she would make Scotland look weak, if she showed up in an evening gown that looked plain and simple, especially in comparison to the expensive clothes that Francis and his father would no doubt wear, but deep down, Mary suspected that her mother had intervened at some point, and Queen Marie had probably insisted that Narcisse dress Mary up in something much more formal than the lace dress for tonight's party.

"It's fine," said Mary, not wanting to get into a discussion about her lack of choices right now. If she did, it would only cause her feelings of anger towards her mother to increase.

For a few more minutes, Narcisse briefed her on all the questions that the journalists attending the party would probably ask her tonight, and Mary rehearsed her answers with him, reciting the full name of the Italian designer who had designed her dress, and basic information about the diamonds she was wearing, as well as her initial thoughts on the opening ceremony, and then more phrases focusing on how she was waiting to see how things played out, when it came to arranging the first date that would take place as part of the show. She kept that rehearsed answer brief. She didn't even want to think about the actual dating part of the show just yet.

After a little while, Mary started to feel overwhelmed again, especially as Narcisse's assistants and all of the stylists were becoming increasingly loud and frantic as the time for their expected arrival at the ballroom drew ever closer.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" Mary asked Narcisse, her tone almost pleading now. She wasn't even sure if he would let her leave the room-her mother had probably told him not to-but she had to try.

"I'll stay right outside," she promised Narcisse, when he looked at her with a very uncertain expression on his face.

She meant it, this time. There would be no point in running now. The guards would find her.

Finally, Narcisse nodded. "I'll instruct the rest of the team to give you some privacy, for the next few minutes," he promised her.

"Thank you," said Mary, before she started to head out of the room. A little voice in her head told her that it might be unwise to get into the habit of negotiating with Narcisse and making promises with him, especially after his exchange with Francis before, but right now, she didn't really feel like she had anybody else to turn to.

* * *

When she was safely outside the television room, Mary sat herself down on a spare seat just a little further down the corridor. She noted that it was rather difficult to sit down and get comfortable in this dress, and she let out yet another sigh of exasperation.

Automatically, Mary reached for her phone, which she'd hidden away in an inner pocket of her dress when she started to get ready.

She'd left her social media pages open on her phone, where she'd been reading a thread of comments about the opening ceremony. For a minute or so, she scrolled through a few more of these comments...

_Mary Stuart is so lucky!_ one teenage girl had written. _She gets to live in a castle, and now she gets to marry a prince!_

_I wish_ my _parents would set me up with a prince!_ another had written.

Again, Mary sighed to herself. Of course this is how it would look, to those watching from the outside. How ungrateful she would seem, if she ever complained in public about the situation her family had put her in.

Yet things were different, from inside the castle walls. This would be no fairy tale; Mary could not simply marry a handsome prince and live happily ever after. With every great privilege came even greater responsibility, as James always told her.

Finally, she minimised the comments page and ran a search for other information that she'd been planning on looking into. She'd already decided that she needed to know as much as possible about the French royal family from now on, in order to stay one step ahead of them, and she was eager to get started on her research.

There definitely seemed to be a common pattern in the most recent news articles from the French papers that Mary had pulled up in her search…

_Attacks in France at a Record Low!_

_French Government Tightens Security!_

_French Royal Family backs Government in Zero-tolerance Security Policy!_

_More Arrests of Suspected Rebels!_

_Riot Suspects taken in for Questioning!_

Mary read through the headlines, one after another. Was this the reason why her parents had set her up with Francis? Were they hoping that an alliance with France would bring extra security to Scotland? Were they hoping to prevent further rebellions in Mary's home country, whatever the cost?

"Ah, Mary!"

Mary was startled by the sound of her brother's voice, calling out to her from further down the corridor. She stared at him in surprise for a few moments. She hadn't expected to see James until later on, at the party.

He walked briskly towards her. Mary noticed that someone else was with him, although in the relative darkness of the corridor, she couldn't quite make out who it was.

Hurriedly, Mary hid her phone in her pocket, although she wasn't sure why she was acting like she had something to hide.

"Mary!" James said again when he reached her. He stopped and stood over her while she remained seated. For some reason, he was grinning, like he knew some sort of secret that his younger sister didn't yet know.

Mary frowned at him in confusion, wondering what he could possibly look so happy about.

"Mary," he told her, "I'd like to introduce you to one of our newest members of staff…"

Mary continued to stare at her brother through narrowed eyes, silently asking him why it was so important to introduce her to new staff members at a time like this, when she could barely think clearly, but then the person who had been standing behind James stepped out of the shadows, and Mary temporarily forgot about everything else that was going on as she stared at this person with wide eyes.

She couldn't believe it. It was the boy she'd encountered in the village earlier. The boy with the blue eyes.

She remembered now, how she'd seen him out the window earlier, too, walking up the long path leading towards the castle.

She'd wondered before, what he was doing at the castle, and she'd half-hoped that _he_ would be the boy who her parents were going to set her up with, but after that, she'd attended the opening ceremony, and he hadn't been there, and then Francis had walked through the door leading to the Throne Room, and everything else that had happened earlier in the day had faded into the background the moment Francis stood in front of her.

Now, it made sense that she had seen this young man walking towards the castle earlier. He was going to be working here. What a strange miracle that was.

"Mary, let me introduce you to Sebastian," said James, as though he and Mary hadn't already walked past him in the village earlier in the day. "He's recently been employed to work here with the other new staff at the castle. I thought it would be a good idea to introduce all our new staff to everyone, so we can all work together…"

How smoothly James lied, Mary thought. How easily he concealed the truth. What else did James hide, behind the mask of duty he wore every day?

"Sebastian," said Mary, not really knowing how she was supposed to react.

It was almost strange, to know that this boy with blue eyes had a name; to see that he was actually here, right now, in the castle where she lived. Especially after all those subtle glances in the village, when Mary had passed him as though from a great distance, not even within his orbit. Until now.

"Bash," Sebastian cut into the conversation as he leaned forward to shake Mary's hand, as though he really was meeting her for the first time. Apparently, James had found a willing accomplice in his lies.

"Bash," Mary repeated, feeling a bit silly now.

She just wasn't sure what else she was supposed to say, especially when her protective older brother was currently watching her, waiting for her reaction.

She supposed she would have to get better at this sort of thing, especially if she was going to convincingly go out on dates with Francis, with the whole nation watching.

"Sebastian will be working in the stables, with the horses," James continued. "He'll be attending the ball tonight, too."

To a casual observer, James would sound cool, distant, aloof, almost, as though Bash's attendance at the ball was of no particular importance to him. But Mary caught a hint of smirk on his face as he spoke the words, and she knew what was going on behind the performance...

This was what he was giving her, in exchange for her co-operation in playing along with the matchmaking show, or perhaps as a way of apologising for not telling her about Francis when she'd asked him earlier.

He was giving her glimpses of this handsome young man from the castle windows. He was giving her the occasional interaction, or a stolen smirk or a wink in her direction.

For one guilty moment, Mary couldn't help thinking about a speech made by a Scottish rebel that she'd heard on the news fairly recently:

" _Just when things become unbearable, and we threaten to rebel, they throw us scraps to keep us quiet!"_

Mary shook her head, trying to clear that thought from her mind. She knew it wasn't healthy, to be thinking that way right now.

"Mary, I'm Mary," she babbled, even though she knew she probably sounded ridiculous, especially when Bash looked so confident.

"I know," he told her with her smirk, his eyes seeming to twinkle even in the dark corridor.

Mary noticed that he hadn't let go of her hand yet.

"A-hem..."

Mary jumped at the sound of Narcisse clearing his throat, even though she was used to hearing him by now.

She turned around and saw him standing in the doorway.

Hurriedly, Mary let go of Sebastian's hand. Again, she couldn't help feeling guilty-especially as Narcisse was regarding Bash with a raised eyebrow-even though she didn't know why she felt that way. Francis wasn't her boyfriend, and she highly doubted that he truly wanted her to be his girlfriend.

"The ball will be starting soon," said Narcisse. He sounded a little impatient, and Mary suspected that she'd stayed outside the television room for longer than Narcisse had planned.

"I'll see you later, Your Grace," said Sebastian with a bow. His tone of voice was suddenly formal, and all hints of the mocking smirk and the twinkle in his eyes were gone now that they had an audience. He turned and started to head down the corridor, with James following in his footsteps.

"Are you ready?" Narcisse asked her, the moment James and Sebastian had left.

"No," Mary told him honestly, "but let's go anyway."

She didn't want to put with anymore fussing and bickering from the hair and makeup team. She just wanted to get this evening over with.

* * *

Narcisse allowed Mary to walk ahead as they headed down several flights of stairs towards the ballroom.

All of Mary's stylists and her Publicity Team followed from a discreet distance-just out of view of any cameras that might take photos as Mary walked towards the ballroom, but close enough that they would be there if she needed them.

Mary concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other; she focused on not tripping over her dress or her own feet. She kept her head up, trying to look proud, strong. Nobody would know that she'd sat in the television room crying her eyes out only a couple of hours ago, lost in one of her worst memories. Except Francis.

When she arrived outside the large double doors that marked the main entrance to the castle's ballroom, there was already a flurry of activity going on.

She saw that Francis and his father were surrounded by their own staff from the French castle, all of them either trying to fix Francis's hair and tie, or holding various phones and papers up in the prince's face, still expecting him to attend to official documents, even right before a party was due to take place. Kings were never truly off duty.

She also noticed that Francis had changed out of his casual jeans and white jumper. Now, he looked smart in an elegant suit, with a tiny French flag pinned to his jacket pocket.

As Mary approached the French royals tentatively, Henry sneered at her, the way he always did, and Francis abruptly stopped talking to his staff members about issues in France. He seemed to freeze to the spot in Mary's presence.

After a few moments of awkward silence, in which Francis stared at her almost intently, opening and closing his mouth a few times as though he had something he wanted to say to her but couldn't find the words, he finally seemed to give up with a shrug.

Mary couldn't help wondering what it was about her presence that always made him look so tense.

With another sneer, Henry left Francis's side and started to head into the ballroom. "The cameras are watching, Francis," he muttered cryptically to his son before he walked away, while Francis scowled at his retreating back.

Feeling tense herself, Mary glanced over her shoulder to see if Narcisse was still standing behind her, but he and the rest of her team had apparently vanished from view at some point. Mary guessed that they had most likely already entered the ballroom. She was on her own with the future king of France now.

She tried her best to compose herself, as the camera crew had just arrived to film their entrance into the ballroom for the television show.

"Are you ready?" she asked Francis, as two members of the television crew started to open the double doors.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, with almost a hint of a smile. He looked slightly more relaxed, now that his father wasn't here.

Then he was all-business again as the doors opened and the cameras started rolling.

Mary nodded as they both got into position, trying at the same time to stay calm. The two of them were expected to walk into the ballroom together while the cameras filmed them, and Mary therefore didn't want to make a mess of their entrance.

Francis looked a lot more composed than she felt; he was standing tall and proud, with his hands clasped behind his back. Every inch a future king.

Mary had only taken a few steps into the room when she suddenly caught sight of the three steps that led from the main doors down to the polished wooden floor of the dance floor. She'd forgotten about those steps.

She suddenly felt a rush of panic that she wouldn't be able to get down the stairs; that her heels would be too high, or she would step on the hem of her dress. It didn't help that she was walking into a ballroom that looked vaguely similar to the one in the French castle, with Francis Valois by her side, and the bad memories still fresh in her mind.

"What do I do?" she whispered almost frantically to Francis, hating that she sounded so vulnerable right now. Hating that she was asking him for advice. She had known all along that she wasn't cut out for this royalty thing.

"Here," he whispered, without any sort of hesitation. Quickly, Francis held his hand out to her, and Mary took it, trying not to grip it too tight as they both started to descend the stairs.

It was strange, Mary thought, how Francis seemed to wake up during moments of stress or conflict. It was like he was more 'himself' in those more urgent moments.

"You can use your other hand to hold onto your dress, if that would be easier," Francis suddenly whispered, his lips barely moving as he offered her instructions as to how to walk without tripping over. Apparently, he had mastered the art of carrying out private conversations without being heard by the public. "And we'll walk slowly, if you'd prefer?"

Mary could only nod as she continued to take slow, tentative steps down the stairs. She tried not to speculate as to how many other girls he had walked with into rooms like this, hand-in-hand. Whether he still did things like this with Olivia. At the very least, Francis seemed to be keeping to the tentative alliance that they'd made in the television room earlier. Perhaps they really could both help each other get through this process.

The rows of guests who were watching them avidly all smiled when they noticed their joined hands. Mary sighed to herself. There would no doubt be articles about this later, claiming that the hand-holding was some sort of sign that their romance was officially getting started.

The ballroom was nowhere near as grand as the one in 'Chateau Valois', but it was beautiful in its own way: the cream-coloured walls were decorated with various golden patterns, including those of a lion and a unicorn-a couple of emblems of Scotland-and the domed ceiling was held up by various pillars that ran all the way down to the floor.

There were several circular tables that had been positioned around the room, where guests would be able to sit and talk and eat and drink. A medium-sized chandelier hung from the ceiling, and there was also a piano in the far corner of the room.

Mary knew that her mother was watching her from one corner of the ballroom, but she determinedly avoided meeting the queen's gaze. She had no wish to talk to her mother tonight.

She realised that her parents must have hired a live band for the evening's entertainment, as a few men in suits were setting up microphones around a cluster of musical instruments.

As soon as they had made their official entrance into the ballroom, both Mary and Francis were ushered over to opposite sides of the room, where various journalists were lined up, ready to ask them questions for the interviews that they would publish in their magazines. There were also several members of the press present, standing between the journalists, ready to take their photos.

Trying to look as calm and as graceful as possible, Mary moved down the line of journalists and photographers, answering all of their questions about who had designed her dress, and giving them the necessary historical information about the diamonds that she had been permitted to wear tonight.

She decided to answer candidly when several journalists asked her about the opening ceremony, telling them that she had been really nervous, in the hope that this would explain away her rabbit-trapped-in-headlights look-an image that would no doubt be plastered all over tomorrow's magazines and newspapers.

After that, she even managed to joke about her less-than-perfect skills in speaking the French language, laughing with them all about how she would probably have to improve now. She realised that it was so much easier to interact with the media, when she was speaking in honesty.

Eventually, she swapped sides with Francis, and Mary went through the answering-questions process all over again with the journalists on the other side of the ballroom, only pausing now and again to take sips from the glass of water that her older brother had helpfully brought over for her. She had a feeling that James would be going out of his way to help her out for a little while, more out of guilt than anything else. She would have to be very careful to not take advantage of his generosity; to not push him into breaking anymore rules with her.

When she got to the end of the second line of journalists, Mary was interrupted by Lola, who was waiting for her with an eager expression on her face.

"Mary," she asked her, the second she had Mary's full attention, "can we dance with Francis tonight?"

Blinking, Mary looked behind Lola to see a group of other women who also worked at the castle, all of them with eager expressions that matched Lola's.

"Of course," Mary replied quickly, trying not to sound too surprised that they were asking her permission. It was strange, how they felt that they had to ask her; almost as though Francis was somehow _hers_.

Finally, the live band started playing the opening notes of a song.

Just as she started to wonder whether she would be expected to dance with Francis tonight, Mary was led to the middle of the dance floor by a member of the television crew, where her father already stood waiting, a nervous-looking grin on his face, as though he wasn't sure if Mary would be ready to talk to him just yet.

Apparently, the show's producers thought that it would be fitting for her to share an opening dance with her father.

Obediently, Mary stood opposite her father. With a bow, they both started to dance together. Mary was well-rehearsed when it came to dances like this-this is how many official parties at royal and political events got started. And yet, it felt so strange, to be the centre of attention, with all eyes in the room on her. Mary was so used to hiding away at events like these, confined to the background while all the attention was on her brother.

There was a tense silence for a couple of minutes before her father finally spoke. "Oh, Mary. Mary, Mary, Mary…" he babbled, sounding genuinely at a loss as to what to say or do at the moment.

He sounded so dejected, and so apologetic, that Mary found it difficult to stay angry at him.

"Father, what's the matter?" she asked him in a whisper, as the cameras continued to film. This 'party' was nothing more than a glorified television show episode, and Mary knew it. She also knew that she would therefore have to be careful about not being overheard.

"The books just won't balance this month, Mary," he replied with a sigh. "They just won't balance…"

Sometimes, it seemed to Mary that her father lived in his own little world, conducting private conversations in his head, but still, she had nearly always been able to pick up on what he was talking about.

"I'm sure we'll work something out," she tried to reassure him, although she wasn't sure if they would 'work something out'. Not when it came to money in Scotland. She wondered if this was another reason why her mother wanted Scotland to ally with France-for economic purposes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Lola had wasted no time in asking Francis to dance. The two of them were laughing at some sort of private joke as they danced together, and Francis actually looked comfortable, spending time with Lola. More comfortable than he usually looked when he was around Mary. Mary wasn't sure why this bothered her so much.

She saw that Francis's father, Henry, was uncharacteristically hidden away in a far corner of the room, deep in conversation with a woman with dark hair. Mary felt another flicker of recognition as she looked at the woman, even though she was fairly certain that she'd never seen her here before.

"Nothing seems balanced at the moment, Mary," her father added, with a pointed look at her. "And for that, I'm so, so sorry-"

"Father, please do not worry," Mary told him firmly, hoping that she at least sounded sincere. "I'll be fine. We'll all get through this, together."

She could lie just as convincingly as her brother, and she knew it.

Looking slightly reassured by Mary's words, her father continued to dance with her until the end of the song, when he moved aside so that Aloysius could dance with Mary instead.

Mary spent the next couple of songs reassuring Lord Castleroy that she was fine, and that she'd just been feeling a little nervous earlier, when she'd run out of the Throne Room. And yes, of course she was looking forward to her first date with Francis.

She was grateful when he changed the subject at last and started talking about his upcoming wedding to Greer.

From over Castleroy's shoulder, she watched as Francis danced with one of Lola's work colleagues, before he shared another dance with Lola.

As Mary looked from Francis to all of the women who were watching him with expressions of barely-disguised adoration, she realised that he really did look like the stereotypical handsome prince from some sort of fairy tale. Like a Prince Charming. She could see why all these girls were so fascinated with him.

If somebody had asked her to sketch a picture of a typical prince from a story book, she probably would have drawn a young man who looked similar to Francis, complete with the wavy blond hair and a formal suit. Yet she also knew that in reality, he was much more than a cardboard cut-out of a prince, and perhaps this was what scared her the most.

Would she have drawn herself next to Francis, as his princess? She wasn't sure…

Again, an image of white petals appeared in her mind, but still, she couldn't place the memory. But now, she suspected that it had something to do with a prince and a princess.

After another dance with Lola, Francis left the dance floor to take a break. He leaned against one of the pillars on the right-hand side of the room, still close to all the goings-on in the room.

King Henry remained hidden away in the far corner, apparently happy to let his son take centre-stage, if only for tonight.

Every now and again, Mary had the strange feeling that Francis was watching her as she danced, but whenever she looked right at him, he seemed to look away. Or perhaps he hadn't even been looking at her in the first place, and Mary was only imagining things.

Aloysius had to leave the party early, to get back to Greer and the children, so, as the next song began to play, Mary went to dance with her brother, who had just joined her on the dance floor.

At the same time, she noticed that Bash had just walked into the room. Immediately, he walked over to Francis and introduced himself.

Francis shook his hand with a smile, looking genuinely happy that there was another young man around his age at the castle, and the two of them got into conversation, both of them laughing and joking with one another.

Mary wasn't sure why this new-found friendship between Francis and Sebastian made her feel so uneasy. It was almost as though they might accidentally end up revealing secrets about _her_ to one another, although Mary wasn't entirely sure what those secrets were.

As she watched Francis and Bash, she couldn't help noticing some sort of resemblance between the two of them, even though they looked so different. Perhaps it something in their body language, or their mutual gestures…

"Mary, the cameras are watching," James suddenly whispered to her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Mary shrugged apologetically. James must have noticed her looking at Bash.

"I suppose Sebastian was the best _possible_ man for the job at the castle," she fired back at her brother, keeping her tone of voice mocking, sarcastic. "And I suppose _you_ happened to be on the interview panel?"

"Something like that," James replied, a hint of a smirk on his face, reminding Mary of the more rebellious boy from her childhood, before his sense of 'duty and honour' had taken over completely.

_Run away with me, James!_ she desperately wanted to plead with him. _We could go tonight, if we really wanted to. We could sneak out of the castle windows, just like on that night in France. We could run, and run, and run; we could finally get away from all of this! I wouldn't have to appear on television, and you wouldn't have to go through with your ridiculous wedding to Lady Kenna. You wouldn't have to pretend anymore, if you truly are pretending. We could both marry who we wanted; maybe we could live among the rebels…_

_Stop_! Mary told herself. This was childish; this was ridiculous. They would never get away, and James would never agree to it, anyway.

Trying to keep her expression neutral, she continued to dance with her brother, discreetly looking over James's shoulder every now and again to stare at Sebastian and Francis. As strange as the thought seemed to her, Mary really felt like these two men represented her only two options from this point on.

Yet, as far as her parents were concerned, there was no choice. There had only ever been _one_ option.

The song ended, and Mary and James were interrupted by Narcisse, who cut in to ask Mary to dance.

As Narcisse wrapped an arm around her waist, Mary noticed that Francis was glaring furiously in her and Narcisse's direction. Again, Mary couldn't help wondering what it was about Narcisse that bothered Francis so much.

"How am I doing?" she asked Narcisse, deciding that it would be pointless to ask him about his history with Francis right now.

"They're impressed, so far," Narcisse muttered, almost cryptically, in her ear.

Mary wasn't sure who 'they' were.

"I'll help you get through this," he continued to whisper. "We can help each other."

Mary frowned at him, unsure as to what he meant by the two of them helping each other.

She distracted herself by surveying the room again from over Narcisse's shoulder. She noticed that Bash seemed to be making himself very popular with most of the women in the room; he flirted with them confidently, smirking and winking and running a hand through his hair the whole time, while groups of women fussed over him, all-too-eager to bring him drinks.

Mary looked around for Francis again, and she saw that he had joined Lola for yet another dance. She felt another flicker of irritation, although she reminded herself that it was ridiculous to feel that way. She had told Lola that she could dance with Francis, after all.

Narcisse followed her gaze, and a mischievous grin crept to his face.

"Excuse me," he muttered, before he let go of Mary, bowed to her and hurried away in Francis and Lola's direction before Mary could stop him.

"Can I cut in?" she heard him ask Francis, his tone of voice sounding almost patronising as he stood between Francis and Lola and took hold of Lola's hand before Francis could give him his permission.

Lola seemed oblivious to what was going on, as she just looked happy for the chance to dance with Narcisse, but Mary didn't miss the smug smirk on Narcisse's face as he pulled Lola away from Francis, or the glare that Francis gave Narcisse as he started to dance with Lola.

Mary had the distinct feeling that Francis actually looked like he would have hit Narcisse, if they hadn't been in a public place with cameras filming them both.

Mary felt troubled by the whole scene that was playing out in front of her. She wasn't sure if Francis was glaring at Narcisse because Narcisse had deliberately antagonised him, or because he actually missed dancing with Lola.

She also wasn't sure if Narcisse genuinely had feelings for Lola, or if he was simply using her to get to Francis.

Before she could sink any further into troubled thoughts, Sebastian suddenly appeared in front of Mary, holding out his arms eagerly, waiting for her to take his hand for a dance, and somehow managing to wink at one of the young women who worked on Mary's father's accounting team at the same time.

"Your Grace," he whispered with a smirk, the moment Mary was in his arms, "you look radiant tonight, like the sun."

"Do you flirt with _everybody_?" Mary asked him with a frown.

"Absolutely everybody," Bash replied with a grin, without a hint of embarrassment.

Mary made a show of rolling her eyes in apparent disapproval, but she couldn't help the grin that crept to _her_ face. Something about Bash intrigued her.

She noticed that Francis had now got into conversation with James, the two of them standing with their hands clasped behind their backs as they conversed.

For as happy as he'd looked when he was talking to Bash, Francis now looked equally happy to have found a fellow heir-to-the-throne to talk to.

_You traitor..._ Mary thought as she caught James's eye, but there was no real malice in her mock glare.

She was sure it would be helpful to James in the long run, to strike up a potentially powerful alliance with another king.

"You are not alone here," Sebastian whispered in her ear as the final notes of the song played.

"Thank you, Sebastian," Mary told him with a nod of her head, sounding very formal but secretly feeling grateful that he was offering her some sort of support. She recognised a rebellious spirit when she saw one. Perhaps they could help each other, in some way.

With a bow, the two of them parted at the end of the dance.

Instantly, there was another young woman waiting to take Mary's place in Bash's arms.

Mary was just about to head over to make polite conversation with Francis and James when Lola suddenly ran over to her with a grin on her face.

"Mary, dance with me!" she insisted, as she grabbed hold of Mary's hand, leading her back towards the middle of the dance floor.

Lola sounded so enthusiastic that Mary didn't have the heart to refuse her.

As the beat of the song picked up, Mary ended up dancing around in circles with Lola, the two of them spinning each other around. She couldn't help laughing along with her new friend, realising that she was actually having fun. For so long, Mary had only really had James for company, so all of this was new to her. She had to admit that she was enjoying it.

She felt almost like an ordinary girl who was attending a party with another female friend, the two of them laughing and giggling without a care in the world.

She felt the eyes of Francis, Bash _and_ Narcisse on her and Lola as they danced, although she couldn't be sure who was looking at whom.

* * *

After dancing to a few more songs with Lola, Mary excused herself and stepped out of the ballroom to take a much-needed break.

Defying her father's orders to stay right outside the room, Mary decided to take a stroll through some of the nearby corridors. A part of her was searching for James, as she'd seen him walk out of the ballroom a few minutes ago.

It didn't take long before she spotted him, leaning against a wall in a corridor close by, almost in darkness.

Mary was just about to walk over to him, when she saw that there was somebody else with him, somebody who Mary really didn't want to talk to right now…

"How dare you!"

Mary heard the distinct sound of her mother's voice as she shouted at James. She frowned. It was so unlike her mother, to get angry at James. Usually, he was the 'golden child', playing by all the rules, while Mary broke them.

Feeling intrigued, she hid herself away around the nearest corner, discreetly looking around it every now and again as she listened in on the conversation.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," James replied to their mother.

"Oh, don't play games with me, James! We both know you're too old for that now! You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about!"

"I'm just trying to make things easier for her," James mumbled, sounding a little sheepish.

"No, you're just trying to distract her!" Mary's mother accused him in a furious whisper. "And heaven knows she doesn't need any more distractions right now!"

Mary sighed as she continued to listen in on the conversation, knowing that they could only be talking about her.

"So, what will you do?" James asked, with a hint of defiance in his voice now. "Will you just dismiss Sebastian from the stables?"

"You know I can't do that!" the queen hissed back at him. "The Prime Minister and I have just delivered a speech to the country about equal rights in the workplace! I can't look like a hypocrite in my own home! Not when there are already so many threats from the rebels out on the streets! I trusted you with those interviews, James! And now you've put me in a very awkward position! Again! There's something between them, and you knew it all along! Did you not see the way that he was all over her, at the ball just now?"

"Sebastian is no threat to your little matchmaking scheme," James hissed back at her. "Mary has changed over the past couple of years. You know that she'll play the game just as well as Francis…"

"You'd better hope so," Mary's mother whispered as Mary felt that usual feeling of despair threaten to overtake her. "We have found her the _perfect_ husband; you'd better make sure that _nobody_ gets in the way of that engagement-or heaven help this country!"

With that, she stormed off.

After a few seconds, James followed her.

* * *

Mary had to blink back furious tears as she processed her mother's words. Whatever else was going on, her mother was trying to make sure that there was no way out of this royal matchmaking scheme for Mary. She would not allow her an inch of freedom…

Suddenly, Mary heard the distinct sound of footsteps behind her, along with the sound of heavy breathing.

She jumped, startled, and hurriedly turned around to see who had crept up on her.

But when she turned around, she realised that there was nobody there. Double-checking, Mary glanced from left to right, and she took a few steps back around the corner, but still the corridor was empty.

"Hello?" she called out into the darkness, just in case. She was met by only silence.

With her heart still racing, Mary told herself that she'd only imagined the presence of somebody else in the corridor.

It was just like before, when she'd been running back towards the television room and she'd been certain for a moment that she actually saw somebody watching her.

Mary decided that now would probably be a good time to head to bed to try to get some rest. She had had a long day, and she was overtired, and her mind was probably playing tricks on her.

As the grandfather clock standing against the nearest wall struck midnight, Mary suddenly realised that she had not even shared one dance with Francis at the ball.


	6. Chapter 6

"Father, you are not well…"

Francis stood opposite his father in the Scottish castle's entrance hall, sharing a final conversation with him before the king departed to head back to France for a little while, where his presence was required. Royal duties always had to take priority over anything else; that is what Francis's parents had taught him from birth.

As his father shouted orders to his staff about how his luggage should be handled, Francis couldn't help noticing that he looked much paler than usual, and he felt it necessary to voice his concerns.

"Stop fussing, Francis!" his father snapped at him, the way he always did. His father's health was an especially sensitive issue at the moment. "Besides," the king sneered, "right now, that's the least of _your_ worries…"

For a moment, Francis was tempted to disagree with him. His father's condition definitely seemed like a very troubling concern for Francis right now.

He worried for his father on a personal level, of course, in spite of their rather strained relationship over the years, but his fear ran deeper than that. As selfish as Francis knew it would seem to some, ever since the king of France had fallen into ill health, Francis had spent many a sleepless night thinking about the fact that if anything were to happen to his father, as the heir to the throne, _he_ would become a king almost overnight, with all of the duty and the responsibility on _his_ shoulders at a young age. Or the burden, as many would say.

He didn't feel ready to be a king just yet, and there was never enough time to prepare.

"Can you at least promise you'll get some rest when you return to France?" he asked his father, folding his arms as he raised an eyebrow pointedly at him, trying his best not to sound like he was pleading.

His father did nothing but sneer back at him.

He wished that his father would stop taking unnecessary risks and pushing himself to the limit.

"And please, send my best wishes to Olivia, when you get home…" Francis sighed as he finished his sentence. His mother had already told him in their most recent phone conversation that Olivia was still finding things difficult, especially now that a photo of Mary and Francis holding hands as they entered the ballroom together had appeared in several French magazines.

He and Olivia hadn't actually been a couple for quite a while, but still, it was difficult to let go of the past sometimes.

His father merely grunted in response, looking disapproving of Francis's sentimentality. His actions left Francis unsure as to whether the king was actually going to do as he asked.

With his father suddenly distracted by the various staff members who were carrying his luggage to the royal car that waited outside, Francis returned to his troubled thoughts…

Would he be expected to tell Mary about his history with Olivia? Or worse, would he have to tell her the real reason why they broke up?

Already, there were too many other secrets he knew he would have to share with Mary, if there was going to be any chance of things working out between them, not least the fact that Francis becoming a king in the near future was a very real possibility. She would have to know the truth about Francis's father's poor health, and the role that might be waiting just around the corner as a consequence, so she could make an informed decision…

But then, Francis's mind drifted to all of the events that had unfolded in Scotland recently-the opening ceremony, the conversation in the television room, the ball last night...and he had to admit, if only to himself, that perhaps his father had a point when he told him he had other things to worry about. Maybe there were more pressing matters at hand at the moment than his typical day-to-day concerns.

Unbidden, an image of a smirking Narcisse appeared in his mind, and Francis felt a jolt of anger.

_Stephane Narcisse, of all people! How had he found his way here, to this little-known castle in Scotland? How had he managed to win over the Scottish royal family?_

Francis felt a flicker of fear on Mary's behalf. He didn't doubt Mary's judgement for a moment, but he wondered if she had any idea just how cunning and manipulative Narcisse could be.

Back in France, Narcisse had been known for his smooth talk, and his 'subtle' threats, and his skill at conveniently making problems 'disappear'. If ever there had been bribery or corruption going on, Narcisse had usually been behind it all, somewhere.

His under-handed methods had once made him a popular Publicist for royals and celebrities alike, until he'd found employment at the French castle.

During his time at the castle, Narcisse had grown rather close to Francis's mother, acting as a willing accomplice to her typical schemes.

Francis couldn't help shuddering. He dreaded to think just _how_ close Narcisse had been to his mother.

Francis had actually believed that Narcisse had done his worst with a few of his not-so-pleasant schemes in the castle, but the events that Narcisse and his family had been implicated in afterwards had proved otherwise…

Again, Francis shuddered, as his memories of the attack on the castle by rebels two years ago-and everything that had unfolded in the aftermath-threatened to take over. It was always difficult to fight his way out of those memories, and he didn't want to think about all of that right now.

However, it was much harder to forget that Narcisse had vowed, just before he left France, that he would get revenge on the Valois family for what he perceived to be their wrongdoing, one day.

At the time, Francis hadn't even taken Narcisse's threat seriously. But now he was here, in Scotland, somehow involved in this matchmaking process, working directly with Mary.

Knowing Narcisse as he had once known him, Francis feared that he would soon make himself indispensable to Mary, to the point where she would think that she couldn't face the public without his 'wisdom' and 'guidance'. He had a habit of getting into people's heads like that.

If by some miracle he and Mary ended up married after all this, Francis had a horrible feeling that she would eventually wish to employ Narcisse as her permanent assistant, which would bring him right back to French court, ensuring that he was ideally placed for any planned acts of revenge.

And then, if he couldn't get to Francis through Mary, Francis had his suspicions that he would do so through Lola instead.

Francis had seen at last night's ball, the way that Lola and Narcisse had looked at each other. Something was clearly about to happen between the two of them. Normally, Francis wouldn't have cared too much about the relationships of others, but Lola had seemed like a nice enough girl-she had seemed concerned about him, asking him how he was finding the whole matchmaking process and how he was coping with the constant presence of journalists, and she had been so positive in her views about Mary as a person, telling Francis repeatedly how _nice_ and how _kind_ Mary was, sounding almost like a teenager who was trying to fix her friend up with a boy, which had been amusing, in its own way. Francis didn't know her very well, but he wasn't overly keen on the idea of a girl like Lola getting caught up in Narcisse's typical scheming and backstabbing.

Not to mention the fact that at the ball last night, Lola had talked to everyone as though Mary was already the queen of France. In Lola's eyes, Mary and Francis were practically engaged, and Mary was already her friend, not to mention a potential future employer who could offer Lola an important role working with her in France, away from the watchful eyes of Queen Marie. Francis wasn't sure if things would truly work out that way, but he would hate for Narcisse to be the one to ruin all of Lola's dreams. Because any role for Lola that involved working closely with Mary in the future could potentially provide Narcisse with another link to French royalty, if something happened between Lola and Narcisse, and Francis was determined that that simply couldn't happen.

Should he tell Mary about all of these private thoughts? Should he tell her the _whole_ truth about his history with Narcisse? Beyond what she would probably find out for herself, in the end? Should he talk about all the things he hadn't talked about since the attack on the castle?

Francis supposed he would have to, eventually-for Mary's own safety, if nothing else-but already, he was dreading that particular conversation. He suspected that Mary would think he was trying to interfere; trying to tell her what to do and who to hire and fire. He also worried that she would think that this was just a case of a personal grudge between him and Narcisse, rather than a greater political issue.

As he thought again about the events of last night, Francis's thoughts drifted back to Mary, the way they so often did.

He suspected that he'd already made a mess of things at the ball, with his awkward behaviour. When he first saw Mary outside the ballroom at the start of the evening, he'd really wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful, but he hadn't been able to find the words, and he'd worried that he'd say it wrong, or that she would think he was only complimenting her for the sake of the cameras. And then the moment had passed.

After that, he had worried about whether he would be expected to ask her to dance. Francis had never been particularly fond of dancing, especially in the presence of cameras and royal families at formal events, but he would have put up with all that, for her, if she'd wanted to dance with him.

It was always like this, with Mary. He could flirt with girls and charm people when duty required it, but something about Mary in particular always made him shut down, leaving him feeling awkward and nervous and unable to string a sentence together in her presence, and even prone to tripping over his own feet, at times.

He remembered his years spent at school in London-all those times when he'd been out walking and he'd spotted her, usually looking in the windows of shops that sold rare artwork, or looking in the windows of second-hand book shops.

So many times, he'd wanted to walk up to her and strike up a conversation (usually encouraged by his crowd of smirking male friends from school-Francis's crush on Mary had always been common knowledge among them), but he'd never really been brave enough.

A few times, he'd started walking towards her only to turn back at the last second. One time, he'd got about halfway across the street before he'd tripped over his own feet in his nerves. Another time, he'd actually got all the way over, standing right next to her at a shop window, but she'd given him such a strange look that Francis had lost his nerve and he'd been forced to pretend that he too had just been there to look at the antique paintings in the window.

He tried to ignore the fact that his cheeks felt flushed in reaction to his memories of all of his attempts to talk to Mary in London. How pathetic she would think he was, if she knew.

And, true to form, Francis just hadn't had the courage to walk right up to her and ask her to dance at the ball, for fear of rejection, or fear of looking like an idiot, and then he'd been distracted by all the other girls who'd wanted to dance with him, as so often happened at parties where future kings were present, and Mary had had plenty of others asking _her_ to dance, too…

Francis remembered how he'd leaned against one of the pillars in the room, taking a break from dancing and trying to watch Mary discreetly without her noticing. Then, he'd spotted Sebastian out of the corner of his eye and he'd noticed that _he_ had been watching Mary, too, with a look of admiration written all over his face.

_This was bound to happen_ , he'd told himself at the time. _Of course there will be others admiring her, too…_

Besides, Francis had got along well with Sebastian. From the moment he first shook his hand at the ball, he'd felt almost as though he knew him from somewhere, as though they'd met before, or like they'd known each other for years, and the conversation had flowed easily, in the same way that he'd found Mary's brother, James, so easy to talk to. Francis didn't want to have to dislike him.

But still, all of his reasoning hadn't eased the pang of jealousy that Francis felt as he watched Mary and Sebastian dance together and smile at each other.

"You need to focus, Francis!" his father suddenly snapped at him, as though he could read Francis's not-so-pleasant thoughts. "This is a television show, not some pathetic love story! And France needs the ratings and the positive publicity just as much as Scotland does. Play your part!"

Before Francis could answer, his father turned away from him and started walking towards the door. When he was standing in the doorway, he turned back to talk to him again…

"Remember, Francis," his father instructed him in barely more than a whisper, "duty always comes first."

With that, he turned away and headed out the door, without even a goodbye.

Francis simply scowled at his father's retreating back. As daunting as the idea of being on his own in this foreign castle seemed, perhaps it was for the best that he wouldn't have to deal with his father for a little while.

* * *

Breakfast that morning was a rather frosty affair for the Stuarts.

Often, they ate in the castle's main dining room on the ground floor, along with all of the staff and any visitors to the castle, but this time, Mary's mother had requested that the family meet in the smaller, more private dining room on the first floor, no doubt so that they could all talk about recent events without being overheard.

And yet, nobody was actually talking. A heavy silence seemed to hang in the air around them, as though they were all afraid to be the first to speak.

Mary buttered her croissant with a lot more force than was necessary, only pausing every now and again to look up and glare at her mother, who was sitting opposite her.

In other circumstances, Mary might have skipped breakfast altogether, but she knew that she had a photo shoot with Francis and some filming scheduled in the afternoon, and she was therefore trying to put off heading to the television room to get ready for as long as possible.

Mary's brother and father sat at either end of the table, the two of them looking awkward and uncomfortable, with James seemingly fascinated by whatever it was he was looking at on his phone, while Mary's father hid his face behind the newspaper he was currently reading.

Mary couldn't help noticing that the photo of her and Francis walking into the ballroom hand-in-hand had made it to the front page. She let out a sigh.

Finally, her mother was the one to break the silence:"So, Mary, what are your initial impressions of the matchmaking process? And Francis?" she added, almost tentatively.

Mary was tempted to ignore her, but then she remembered how her mother had shouted at James last night after the ball, and in her anger, she couldn't resist speaking: "He is blond!" she snapped at her mother, glaring at her accusingly as she thought about all the blond men that her mother had found attractive in the past. "And he is a prince!" This time, the accusing glare was aimed at both of her parents.

Her father stayed hidden behind his newspaper, but Mary noticed that his face seemed to have gone a bit red.

"You have set me up with _your_ perfect match!" she shouted, focusing on her mother again.

"Nonsense!" her mother sighed, dismissing Mary's accusation with a wave of her hand. "Besides, you adored Francis, when you were both children. You used to follow him around the castle in France, every time we visited, giggling and laughing the whole time. You always wrote about him in that journal you kept as a child, and you used to write both of your names together in hearts on every scrap of paper-"

"No, I didn't!" Mary protested, feeling indignant that her mother could even imagine she'd done such things. Yet for some reason, she felt her cheeks grow warmer at her mother's words.

"There is nothing stopping you from falling in love with Francis as an adult, if only you would stop searching for distractions!" her mother insisted.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Mary pushed her chair back, deciding that she'd eaten enough breakfast. She made sure to slam her butter knife down on the wooden table as she stood up.

"You have three months, Mary," her mother told her, as Mary made a great show of stomping her feet on her way out of the room, and the queen pointedly ignored her little tantrum. Her mother's tone of voice was more stern now: "Use the time wisely. The public might be enthusiastic about your first photos with Francis at the ball, but they're still not entirely convinced by the connection between the two of you. You _must_ make more effort when the cameras are on today. And never forget, there's a lot more at stake for Scotland right now than just television ratings..."

Mary simply glared at her mother as she headed for the door, but she couldn't help the familiar prickle of nerves at the mention of Scotland being in trouble.

"Oh, and James?" she heard her mother tell her brother just before she left the room, "Kenna will be arriving for a visit tomorrow."

Standing in the doorway, Mary looked back at her brother.

Now, James was the one who looked nervous and uncomfortable.

* * *

As Mary walked through the hallways that led from the family dining room to the television room, all of her troubled thoughts seemed to take over.

She thought again about her mother's angry words to James last night, and she wondered if her mother had brought forward Kenna's next visit to Scotland as some sort of punishment; a way of reminding James of his duties, and to remind him to behave himself.

Then, not for the first time this morning, she thought about the ball last night, and how Francis hadn't asked her to dance. She thought about how he _had_ danced with Lola, how the two of them had laughed together. _Why does this bother you so much?_ she asked herself, yet again.

She also thought about Bash, and how he'd flirted with her. She remembered how her mother had mentioned this apparent 'flirting' to James, when she'd been shouting at him. _Was_ she attracted to Bash? Did it _really_ look as though something was going on between the two of them?

She thought about how she'd looked out the window earlier in the morning, to see Francis and Bash outside, walking the grounds together, already looking like the best of friends. Would Bash let slip to Francis that he'd smirked and winked at Mary in the village only a day ago? Would he tell him that James had lied and covered up to get Bash a job at the castle, as some twisted favour to Mary? Would Francis even care?

All of this was going on-and Mary's troubled thoughts seemed to be never-ending-and yet there was still a television show to film; there was a matchmaking process in place that had to continue, no matter what.

Desperately, Mary tried to remind herself of how kind Francis had been to her when they'd spoken in the television room just before the ball. He'd promised that he would try to make things easier for her. She remembered how different he'd looked, dressed in his jeans and jumper; she remembered how he'd tried to comfort her when she was upset. She remembered how he'd held her hand when they walked into the ballroom together, preventing her from falling…

Perhaps things really wouldn't be as bad as they seemed.

Scotland was counting on her, and she would have to try her best, if only to distract the country from its other problems for a little while. Francis would help her. She could get through this….

Mary was just walking past the wooden balcony that overlooked the castle's entrance hall, and she was starting to feel slightly better, when she heard Francis's voice:

_"Send my best wishes to Olivia…"_

With a suspicious frown, Mary crept closer to the balcony and looked over it to see Francis, deep in conversation with his father.

She could only pick up on a few of the words they were saying, but they were enough to provoke the familiar feelings of panic and hopelessness that seemed to wash over her on an almost daily basis…

_"This is a television show!"_ Francis's father snapped at him. " _France needs the ratings just as much as Scotland does! Play your part!"_

And then, just before Francis's father walked out the door: " _Remember, Francis, duty always comes first."_

Trying to fight off a strange, unexpected feeling of disappointment, Mary moved away from the balcony and headed towards the television room.

"Duty always comes first," she muttered sarcastically to herself as she walked.

For a moment, Mary was certain she heard the sound of mocking laughter from just around the corner, but then she told herself firmly that she was only imagining things.


	7. Chapter 7

The atmosphere in the television room was rather subdued as Mary allowed the hair, makeup and Publicity teams to get her ready for her photoshoot with Francis.

Mary wasn't sure if this was due to the fact that James had decided to join them all in the room this morning, with her older brother looking moodier than ever (Mary suspected that her mother's recent announcement about Kenna's visit had a part to play in James's current sulkiness, and he was probably now prepared to go anywhere to escape the constant reminders of his duties), or if it was due to the fact that Mary was dreading her photoshoot more than ever now, in light of recent events.

In her mind, she kept going over and over the conversation that she had just overheard between Francis and his father. The more she thought about their words, the more uneasy she felt…

Amongst her nagging concern that Francis still seemed to have some sort of relationship with Olivia going on back in France were the mixed feelings of anger and fear that Francis and his family were using Scotland in some way just to benefit their own country.

Then there was Francis's father's reminder to his son that this whole thing was only a television show.

Was this process really just a television appearance to Francis? After all, before the ball last night, he had talked about the two of them helping each other to 'get through' the process, as though it was something that only had to be endured for a little while. Would he leave the moment the television show was over, in a final humiliation to Scotland? And, before that, would the Valois family employ under-handed moves behind the scenes to make fools of the Scottish royal family along the way?

There was also Francis's father's command to Francis to 'do his duty'. How sad it was that Francis only seemed to be here out of some sense of royal obligation! How strange it was that Mary suddenly cared so much! Had this whole thing not just been an obligation to her, too, this time yesterday?

Would Francis really just be playing a part in all of his interactions with her? She remembered what her mother had said at breakfast, about how close Mary and Francis had been as children. If all of that was true, then how had things changed so drastically between them over the years? Was it really just down to the disaster that they had both been a part of? Or was there more to it than that?

More than ever, Mary felt like Francis was keeping secrets from her.

As though the television screen in the room could somehow read her thoughts, a member of Narcisse's team suddenly changed the channel, and Mary noticed that a panel made up of celebrity journalists and political writers was currently debating the ethics of allowing a matchmaking process to be shown on television for public entertainment in the first place.

With a sigh, Mary turned away from the TV screen. There was a part of her that knew that she should be finding the positives in these recent revelations; after all, it would definitely make things easier if the Valois family did the dirty work for her and showed the country just how under-handed they could be, and then proceeded to back out of the matchmaking show before a decision about an engagement had to happen-this was exactly the kind of thing she'd wanted, when she'd first been scheming her way out of this process, before she'd realised _who_ exactly would be involved in the show-but for some reason, she could find no joy in this realisation right now.

She could also find no joy in the fact that she was getting to spend a little time with her older brother at the moment, even though they rarely had this spare time to sit in the television room together anymore. Because right now, James looked so miserable that Mary could not even muster a smile in his presence. He kept staring out the window, looking lost in thought, and he seemed to be pointedly ignoring all the messages that the queen kept sending to his phone.

With all of her suspicions about the Valois family, Mary had a strange feeling that perhaps it wouldn't be such a wise idea to lose her focus just now and allow Narcisse to play too great a role in all the final decisions about today's show, but she really couldn't help herself; she was too distracted by everything else that was going on at the moment-her own inner thoughts in particular.

Vaguely, she was aware of the fact that the stylists had dressed her in a light blue dress today (on Narcisse's advice), which had a few sequins sewn in (apparently, they would reflect the glimmers of sunlight just perfectly when they were outside, or so her chief stylist had told her). They had also found a plain white cardigan for Mary to wear to help keep her warm on a cool Scottish day, and her hair hung loosely over her shoulders. Her matching blue shoes were practical, with only a small heel, so they would not be too painful to walk in out in the grounds, but they were still stylish all the same.

As the hair stylists made their final preparations, and Narcisse instructed her yet again that she was not to say anything today that could potentially make her country look vulnerable, the programme on the television screen changed to footage of an interview that Kenna had recently given to Lord Castleroy on a television show in Edinburgh…

"Now, now, Aloysius," she was telling him in the interview clip as he pressed her for the details of her upcoming wedding to James, and he asked her if they had named a date yet. Kenna grinned playfully as she waggled a finger at him, as charming as ever, even as she skillfully deflected the question. "You know that a princess has to keep _some_ things secret!"

The audience in the television studio laughed along with her, captivated by Kenna and her smiles and her jokes.

_You are not a princess yet!_ Mary couldn't help thinking angrily to herself as she glared at the television screen. Yet she couldn't help feeling a bit envious of Kenna as she continued to laugh and joke with Lord Castleroy. Mary had a feeling that _she_ would never master Kenna's talent of so easily engaging an audience. She supposed that this was one of the reasons why Kenna had always dreamed of being a princess, while Mary had always dreamed of escaping the restrictions of royal life.

As though only just realising that his future wife was appearing on television, James suddenly turned away from the window and looked up in the direction of the television screen.

With a roll of his eyes, he abruptly got up from his seat and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

As distracted as she was by the minutes on the clock which were slowly ticking away, Mary still noticed that Narcisse seemed to watch her brother with a very sad expression on his face as he left the room.

"Is something the matter?" Mary couldn't help asking him, her curiosity winning out over the need to get to the photo-shoot on time.

As Narcisse replied, he sounded rather hesitant: "Your brother," he mumbled in a low voice, as though he didn't want anyone else in the room to hear what he was saying, "he reminds me a little of my own son."

"You have a son?" Mary asked him, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Stephane Narcisse seemed far too young to have a son who was old enough to resemble James in any way.

"My ex and I were very young when he was born," he continued to whisper, with a pained expression still written all over his face. "He and I were very close, once, but it has been two years since I last saw him…"

"Did you have some sort of argument with him?" Mary asked Narcisse, intrigued now as to what had happened to separate father and son, although she knew that her mother would tell her to hold her tongue, if she were here. This line of questioning would seem far too impersonal and inappropriate to the queen, especially when it was a member of the royal family who was asking the questions.

"No…nothing like that," said Narcisse, sounding hesitant now. "He was…imprisoned, for a crime he did not commit, and was forced to flee his home country after he was released, for his own safety. I have not seen him since."

"I'm sorry," Mary told him, sincerely. She knew that she was still young and didn't yet fully understand the bond between parent and child, but she couldn't help feeling genuinely sorry for the relationship between father and son that Narcisse had lost, and all for what seemed like an injustice in the law system.

Any further conversation about the matter was cut off when Lola knocked on the door, here to remind everyone in the room that the photographers were waiting, and that the queen was 'concerned' that Mary was going to be late.

Lola's visit seemed to temporarily distract Narcisse from his painful memories, and so Mary left Lola and Narcisse in the room together and headed down to the gardens alone.

* * *

When Mary walked outside into the castle's main gardens, her somber mood did not improve, in spite of today's rare warm weather.

She spotted Francis, standing a few feet away from her on the lawn, surrounded by the photographers who were setting up for the photo-shoot.

Francis had his back to her, and he appeared to be talking to someone on his phone.

As Mary walked closer to him, she could just about hear him say the name 'Olivia' as he held his phone close to his ear.

He was speaking in French, but Mary could still understand a few of the phrases, thanks to the frequent French language lessons taught by the nuns at her former school. Francis was saying something about how the situation 'wasn't ideal', and how he knew 'how difficult this had been' and also something about how things would 'work out for the best, in the end'.

Mary felt a frown creep to her face. She felt the now all-too-familiar flicker of suspicion that Francis and Olivia were still together, and that he was merely going to endure three months of television appearances before he ran back to his real girlfriend in France.

A member of Francis's royal staff seemed to notice Mary's presence, because the woman nodded pointedly at Francis, and he quickly turned around to see for himself that Mary was standing a few feet away from him. He looked slightly sheepish at having been caught talking to Olivia on his phone, which only caused Mary's suspicions to increase.

"I have to go," he told Olivia abruptly, before he hung up his phone.

Then, as though _Mary_ had been the one to make a mistake, he frowned as he took in the outfit she was wearing, with an obvious expression of disapproval on his face, leading Mary to wonder what she had done wrong.

Before anything could be said between the two of them, they were both ushered towards the fountain in the middle of the garden, where the photo-shoot was to begin.

The tension seemed to be thick in the air around them, as neither of them spoke, and Francis looked very unhappy. They often had to be prompted by the team of photographers to stand closer to one another.

As they moved from the fountain to the flowerbeds to the hedges to the garden statues, they had only the flashes of the cameras for company as the photographers fussed around them, trying to capture every photo from a perfect angle.

Mary tried her best to smile and look relaxed for the cameras, but she couldn't help suspecting that the public would not be entirely convinced of her happiness.

For his part, Francis seemed to be making more effort to look cheerful for the cameras (something that Mary supposed he had been taught to do for years), but Mary could still see the troubled look on his face between the flashes of the cameras.

As the sun shone in the sky above them, Mary couldn't help thinking about how the rays of light seemed to reflect perfectly on Francis's golden curls, although she also felt that this was maybe a strange thought to be having, especially about someone who she didn't know very well and who wasn't actually her boyfriend.

She also had the strange, inexplicable sensation that she had thought something like this about Francis's golden curls once before, but she had no idea where _that_ idea had just come from, or if it was even based on any real memory.

After the photo-shoot, the television crew proceeded to set up _their_ cameras so that they could shoot some footage of Mary and Francis walking in the grounds for the next episode of the show.

As the cameras followed them around the gardens, Francis started to make general conversation with Mary, asking her about her family. Mary had a feeling that making small talk was yet another task that Francis was used to carrying out, due to the amount of people he was expected to meet with on a day to day basis, as part of his role as prince.

After a few more minutes of walking, she also got the strange feeling that Francis actually had other, more important things he wanted to say, as he looked very agitated, and he kept frowning, and sometimes he opened his mouth as though to say something but then quickly closed it again-the presence of the cameras seemed to have put him on his guard.

Privately, Mary acknowledged the fact that there definitely _was_ something very unnatural about making polite conversation while a cameraman walked backwards a few feet ahead of them, matching his pace to their steps while he filmed them, and another member of the television crew held a large microphone over their heads so that their conversation would be clear when the footage was broadcast to the Scottish public on television.

There was a very awkward moment when Mary, distracted by the cameraman and the microphone, suddenly tripped over an uneven part of the grass and started to fall before she could do anything to stop herself.

Quickly, as though acting totally on instinct, Francis reached out and grabbed her, preventing her from falling to the ground, before he helped her to get back to her feet.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary could see the photographers eagerly taking photos in the distance, no doubt trying to capture this moment so they could twist it into some romantic gesture of Francis holding Mary in his arms by the time the picture reached the pages of their magazines.

"I'm sorry," Francis muttered, the moment he let go of Mary. It was as though he had only just realised that he'd reached out for her. For some reason, he looked more awkward than ever, and even a little embarrassed. Mary had never seen him look so at a loss for what to do or say.

"It's fine," Mary responded hurriedly, trying to sound as dignified as possible as she struggled to regain her composure. She wished she hadn't fallen over like an idiot in front of Francis-she was sure that _he_ had never done such a thing before.

The conversation soon turned to Francis's family. Unable to help herself, Mary made a comment about how Francis's father had not looked very well when she saw him this morning, because a part of her really wanted Francis to know that she had overheard his conversation with his father in the entrance hall.

She watched Francis very carefully for his reaction, and sure enough, after a confused-looking frown, a flicker of what looked like real apprehension crossed his face, before he went completely silent for a few long moments.

During a brief break in filming, Mary and Francis stopped walking, and Mary noticed that Francis's gaze was immediately drawn to the upper floors of the castle.

Mary followed his gaze, and she suddenly noticed that Narcisse was fully visible in one of the large glass windows that overlooked the gardens.

He was standing looking down on the events unfolding in the grounds, with his arms folded and a hint of a smirk on his face. He nodded politely at Mary when he noticed her looking up at him, but then he returned to staring at Francis, with his smirk seeming to quickly turn into a sneer.

To the casual observer, it could look as though he was merely overseeing today's filming through the professional eyes of a Publicist, but Mary could tell by the look on his face that there was more to it than that.

Whatever he was doing, it seemed as though his main aim was to taunt Francis somehow, or to make him angry, and he was succeeding.

After a few minutes of careful thought, Mary looked down at the clothes she was wearing today, only now properly taking them in.

She realised now the reason why Narcisse had commanded the stylists to dress her in blue and white-he had dressed her in the colours of the Scottish flag. Perhaps this was not simply a casual outfit, designed purely for comfort while she walked around the grounds. Had this been intentional? A subtle move to show Francis yet again which country was going to be in charge of these proceedings? The look on Narcisse's face as he continued to look down on Francis definitely seemed to suggest it.

Perhaps that was the reason why Francis had given her such a cold look when she'd first walked up to him at the start of the photo-shoot.

The more rational part of Mary's mind reminded her yet again that she would have to be careful with Narcisse.

Narcisse's presence seemed to unnerve Francis completely, even after he'd walked away from the window, as he seemed to lose the ability to even make small talk with Mary. They walked on in silence for a few more minutes.

The awkward silence was only broken by the sound of a call coming through to his phone.

Francis muttered his apologies and headed to a more private part of the garden to take the call.

With a sigh, Mary imagined that it was Olivia, calling him again.

While she waited for Francis to return, a few journalists who were also present for today's filming swooped in to ask Mary a few questions so they could use her answers in their articles.

As Mary answered all of their typical questions almost automatically, switching to autopilot as she recited answers that she had already rehearsed with Narcisse, and meanwhile remaining lost in her own personal thoughts, a horrible idea suddenly occurred to her…

Was _Francis's_ family responsible in some way for Narcisse's son's imprisonment and subsequent fleeing of his home country?

A part of her wanted to dismiss this idea as completely ridiculous, but she knew she couldn't do that-the Valois were not known for being particularly kind or merciful. She would not put it past them to have a young person wrongly arrested to achieve their own selfish aims.

Besides, Narcisse and Francis really did seem to hate each other. There had to be a reason for that, and what better reason than an injustice that had been carried out on Narcisse's family by the French royal family?

Was Narcisse going to try to get revenge on him? Is that why he was here?

How awful it would be, Mary thought, if all of this turned out to be true…

Mary was only pulled out of these dark thoughts when a journalist suddenly asked her if she planning a visit to France with Francis anytime soon, as the general public apparently thought that this would be a good idea, as it would help her to get to know Francis better.

Mary was tempted to roll her eyes at the idea of the general public seeming to think that they knew what was best for her, but she caught herself at the last moment. Instead, she plastered a fake smile on her face as she responded, "We'll see."

She thought it was probably better to keep her answer vague like that for now, as she wasn't sure that spending time with the French royal family would provide the answers to any of her current problems.

Before the journalists could get anymore answers out of her, Francis returned. If anything, he looked even more annoyed than he had looked a few minutes ago.

As several members of the television crew insisted that Francis and Mary needed to strike up another conversation, so that they could have _some_ decent dialogue for their last few minutes of filming, Mary and Francis resorted to making small talk about the weather, of all things, and Mary found her patience was starting to wear thin.

Finally, the cameras stopped rolling. While the crew packed up their things, Mary and Francis stood around awkwardly, as though neither of them really knew what to do.

Mary already knew that Francis would have to leave the gardens to attend a meeting soon, as she'd heard that he had a video conference scheduled with several French politicians, but it seemed he had some free time before then.

With little time left before the meeting, Mary couldn't resist mentioning Francis's latest phone call: "How is Olivia?" she asked him with a raised eyebrow.

She noticed that Francis's whole body seemed to tense at her question, and he took his time in answering her.

"Olivia is fine," he finally responded, sounding very hesitant. "She is as well as can be expected, anyway, given the circumstances..."

Mary felt a rush of something that felt a little like envy for a moment, but then she told herself that what she was feeling was simply anger.

"Why are you here?" she couldn't help asking Francis, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice as she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Already, she was sick of playing games. Between him and Narcisse, it felt as though the game-playing tactics were never-ending. "Are you just seeking publicity for France through this television show?"

Francis frowned. "It is not that simple, Mary," he told her, sounding almost as irritated as she felt. "And you know that."

"Francis, you are deliberately over-complicating things!" Mary snapped at him.

And then they were bickering. They stood facing one another as Mary angrily accused Francis of keeping secrets from her, and also of lying to her, although she wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to have lied about, while Francis went on about royal duty, and how he was always expected to put his country first, as though Mary didn't know all of this already. She'd seen for herself that this was always the way it had to be, with a king. James had proved this point to her, over and over. This was why she had always insisted that she didn't want to marry into royalty.

"You don't want to marry me," Mary finally stated, after they'd finished bickering.

"Not like this!" Francis replied, a tone of desperation, or maybe it was just exasperation, in his voice.

Mary had had enough. With a loud sigh, she threw her hands up in the air, turned on her heel, and stormed off, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Francis and the cameras.

She was sure she heard Francis calling out her name, but she ignored him and kept walking.

Vaguely, she couldn't help thinking about how their first official day of filming couldn't _possibly_ have gone any worse, and also that she was probably at least _partially_ responsible for her interaction with Francis today unravelling into an argument; but then she broke out into a run, and Mary tried not to think about anything, at least while she was running away.

* * *

Mary ran through the castle grounds as fast as her blue shoes could carry her, abandoning all the carved-out paths to run on the muddy grass.

She only slowed down when she was as far from the castle as she could get before she started to run out of breath.

There was about half a mile of woodland towards the end of the royal gardens, and Mary leaned against the nearest tree, trying to catch her breath.

Then, in another rush of anger, she picked up a large stone from the floor and threw it into a large puddle that must have formed during last night's downpour of rain.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of laughter coming from a few feet away.

Although the laughter sounded friendly, and nothing like the mocking laughter she'd imagined she'd heard earlier, Mary still jumped in shock at the realisation that somebody was watching her.

She turned around slowly to see Sebastian, leaning casually against a tree a few feet away from her. He seemed to have been just about to leave the grounds for the day, but apparently Mary's outburst of anger had stopped him in his tracks. As he smirked at her, there was an expression of amusement written all over his face.

"Is everything all right?" he asked her with a grin, looking like he was struggling to hold back even more laughter.

Mary had just opened her mouth to tell him curtly that everything was fine, the way her mother would have expected her to do in the presence of a stranger, so as not to give too much away, but Mary stopped herself at the last moment.

She wasn't sure what made her do it-perhaps it was the fact that she'd already had a stressful day, or the realisation that Francis hadn't actually denied her allegation that he didn't want to marry her, but one moment, she was about to deflect Bash's question, and the next, she'd launched into a rant about Olivia, and how Francis had asked his father to send his 'best wishes' to her earlier, and how Francis had interrupted filming today to talk to her on the phone.

"Am I being ridiculous?" Mary eventually asked Bash after she'd paused to take a breath, feeling a bit silly for her outburst now that she was starting to calm down a little.

"No," Bash replied with a seemingly casual shrug, although there was a definite sympathetic tone to his voice, or maybe even something more-something deeper. "Anyway," Bash continued, "Francis has you. Why would he ever look elsewhere?"

Mary stared at him for a few long moments after he finished speaking, trying to work him out; trying to find the meaning in his words; trying to decide if she could trust him.

In the end, she decided to take a risk. _It's not like you have much to lose, anyway,_ she reminded herself with a sad sigh.

"Do you want to sneak out of the castle with me?" she finally asked him, feeling almost nervous as she asked the question, in case he said no. She wasn't sure if she could take another rejection today.

Luckily, a smirk crept to Bash's face as soon as she asked him the question, along with a very calculating look in his eyes, and Mary guessed that Bash was definitely the 'sneaking out' type.

* * *

It turned out that Mary was correct in her estimation of Sebastian. Although he had only worked at the castle for one day, he already seemed adept at hiding away and escaping the notice of the castle's guards.

While Mary hid away in the stables and waited for him, Bash crept to one of the castle's supply rooms and stole long, dark coats for the two of them to wear, so that they would be better disguised, along with a hat for Mary to tuck her hair up into.

After the two of them had put on the long coats from the supply room, they waited for the time to come when there would be a routine 'changing of the guard'-as Bash suggested that it would be easiest to escape the guards' notice at this time-and then they managed to sneak out of the stables and headed towards the woodland at the edge of the royal grounds.

Avoiding all the well-guarded gates situated around the gardens which marked the typical entrances and exits to the grounds, Mary and Bash crept through the trees towards the high wall that officially marked the boundaries of the royal gardens, with Bash looking over his shoulder just as much as Mary did on the way, to check that nobody was following them.

Mary had a strange feeling that Bash had done things like this before.

Finally, they reached the stone wall at the end of the gardens, and Bash managed to climb it easily, with Mary only struggling a little in her high-heeled shoes. Thankfully, Bash reached down to help her, and then they were over the wall and jumping down onto the muddy ground below, before they ran through yet more woodland on the way to the village.

As she ran, Mary suddenly worried, for the first time ever, that if she and Bash could so easily get _out_ of the castle, then perhaps it would be rather easy for others to get _in_ …She wondered if she should perhaps raise this concern with her mother soon, when the two of them could manage to have a conversation without arguing.

Shaking off that not-so-pleasant thought for the moment, and deciding that perhaps she was just being paranoid, Mary continued to follow Bash, feeling her usual rush of exhilaration at being out of the castle; at having the illusion of freedom. This time, it felt especially good to be here with someone who actually _wanted_ to be with her; someone who enjoyed sneaking out of the castle just as much as she did; someone who wouldn't lecture her on how she shouldn't be doing this.

Mary knew her mother would probably be furious, when she found out what Mary had done, but right now, she didn't care. She just needed to escape reality for a little while.

They ended up taking a long walk on the outskirts of the village, strolling down country lanes and over hills and along the banks of the river, with the two of them pointing out all the places they'd already visited in this particular part of the country along the way.

For a little while, they shared a few laughs and jokes about life in the castle, but to Mary's surprise, their topic of their conversation soon turned to Francis, and she felt strangely compelled to tell Bash almost everything about her recent interactions with him, and how he often seemed to be very cold and distant with her.

"He seems to tense up whenever I stand close to him," she complained, "and he barely seems able to talk to me sometimes. Why is that?" she couldn't help asking Bash, wondering if it might make things clearer, if she had a male perspective on the matter.

"He has feelings for you," Bash told her in response, like this was the most obvious fact in the world.

"No, he doesn't!" Mary protested as she fought off a blush, feeling like Bash had completely missed the point. "His expression is always so…distracted whenever I'm around, and he wouldn't even ask me to dance at the ball! Oh, and he only ever seems to look at me when he's standing at a distance. And, he seems to be able to make conversation with every other woman in the castle, except me."

"Because he has feelings for you," Bash repeated. This time, Mary picked up on a hint of sadness in his voice, although she wasn't sure what Bash was so sad about.

Deciding that Bash _had_ to be wrong about this, and therefore realising that it probably wouldn't be very productive to discuss this matter any further, Mary went back to staring at the river, with Bash walking in silence next to her. At the very least, this silence with Bash didn't feel like an uncomfortable one.

As the late afternoon turned into evening, Mary reluctantly started making plans to head back to the castle, but when Bash mentioned something about heading to the local village pub, _The Lion and the Unicorn_ , this evening, Mary felt intrigued all over again.

"Do you want to go to a party?" Bash asked her with a knowing grin.

Mary nodded, a smirk creeping slowly to her face as all plans to return home were temporarily forgotten.

* * *

The two of them kept their heads down as they walked into the pub, trying to be discreet, just in case anybody was watching. It seemed though that they were being overly paranoid-the customers barely even noticed their arrival.

The inside of the pub looked almost like a room from the past-there were wooden tables and chairs placed unevenly about the room, there was a dusty-looking wooden floor, and the room was rather dark and dingy.

A large Scottish flag hung on the wall, and it was surrounded by old paintings.

There was a small bar to the left of the room where a few men were ordering drinks, and there was a fireplace on the other side, where a few real flames flickered in the fire.

Above the fire, a mantelpiece displayed several old-fashioned looking ornaments, most of which seemed to be in the shapes of lions and unicorns. Although Mary _did_ notice that there was also a model of what appeared to be a bird raising its wings, which was displayed right in the centre of the mantelpiece, and she felt her usual prickle of curiosity. She wondered why she seemed to be seeing this bird-in-flight symbol everywhere, and what it could possibly mean.

The only hint of the modern world appeared in the form of a couple of widescreen televisions that were displayed on the walls. On the screen, Mary was a bit shocked to see her own face. It seemed she was the subject of yet another discussion by a panel of entertainment 'experts'.

The topic of the discussion was displayed on the top of the screen: _Who is Mary Stuart?_

Apparently, the panelists were trying to work out her character, including her hobbies and her personality traits, in order to better understand how the matchmaking show would play out, and whether she and Francis would turn out to be compatible.

Mary shrugged to herself as she pulled her hat down even further to cover her face. She felt like even _she_ wouldn't be able to provide them with all the answers right now.

With a knowing smirk at the television screens, Bash led her towards the back of the room, where it seemed that they would have a little more privacy.

As she passed several of the tables, Mary suddenly noticed that Narcisse was sitting at one of them, playing a game of poker with a group of men, apparently having finished work at the castle for the day. She couldn't help shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she stared at the cards in his hands. _Of course_ Narcisse would enjoy playing poker, she thought.

Narcisse looked up from his cards, and their eyes met. For a second, there was a flicker of uncertainty on his face, but then he simply nodded at her before he focused on the game again.

Discreetly, Mary nodded back at him. She understood what was going on-for whatever reason, neither of them was supposed to be here, and they were both making a silent agreement not to acknowledge the other's presence; an agreement to keep the other's secret.

She couldn't help wondering how Francis would feel about that, but then she shrugged this thought off, as it made her feel too uneasy.

She carried on following Bash towards the back of the room, where the pub seemed to be even darker and quieter.

In this part of the pub, the people sitting huddled around the circular tables seemed to have more pressing matters to deal with than ordering drinks and playing poker. Most of them had very grave expressions on their faces, and they were taking it in turns to speak, while the others listened attentively.

A woman with dark brown hair and hazel eyes walked among them. The way she was carrying herself and the authoritative tone to her voice suggested to Mary that she was some sort of leader of this bizarre little gathering.

Mary felt a strange flicker of recognition-she was certain that she knew this woman from somewhere, but with everything else that had happened over the past twenty-four hours, her memory was letting her down again.

"What is going on?" Mary asked Bash in a whisper.

For his part, Bash looked slightly uncomfortable, especially when the dark-haired woman walking around the room caught his eye and seemed almost to glare at him, as though he had done something wrong.

Mary noticed that Bash looked very similar to this woman, and she wondered if she was his mother.

"There are always meetings like this one taking place here," Bash shrugged. "They should be finished soon. There's a band due to play here later, if you'd like to wait?"

Mary shrugged, deciding that she would wait to see what happened. A part of her was curious to hear what these people were talking about.

Apparently unaffected by Mary and Bash's presence, the people continued with their meeting...

"My family is in serious debt!" one man declared in a thick Scottish accent as he got to his feet to general nods and murmurs. "There are debt collectors at our home every day, demanding payment. I'm not sure we'll ever be able to pay it off!"

"I can't afford even basic medical treatment for _my_ family!" another women called out the moment the first man had sat back down. "The medical reforms in this country have done _nothing_ to help us!"

"My elderly father was taken in for questioning after the latest riots!" a middle-aged man complained after a few people had nodded in agreement with the woman who had spoken before him. "He can barely even walk, and he was forced to spend the night in a cell!"

A few people in the room exclaimed their horror, before an elderly woman got up to speak. "My grandchildren were beaten by the police during those riots," she told the room. "Simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Hidden away in the corner of the room, Mary listened to what these people were saying in horror. How had all of this happened? Scotland had introduced a system of rule by both the Scottish Parliament and the royal family in the hopes of avoiding serious problems like these. Hadn't they?

The royals were not supposed to be there to simply wear pretty clothes and smile at the cameras; everything was supposed to have improved-there was a more democratic system in place; the country's debt was supposed to be steadily decreasing. And yet, it seemed as though things were only getting worse.

"They are not happy, Mary," Bash suddenly whispered to her, as though he could read the look of anguish on her face. "This is the day-to-day reality for a lot of people in Scotland."

Mary couldn't help feeling ashamed of the fact that the royals were apparently ignorant of the depth of the suffering going on outside the castle walls.

"My two eldest children were arrested, after that protest in Edinburgh last year got out of hand." Another man jumped into the discussion. "Arrested! And without any evidence!"

Again, Mary remembered what Narcisse had told her earlier, about his son.

As people continued to air their grievances, Mary felt more fearful than ever for her country. Something would have to be done about all this, or there would be even more riots and protests, and then her parents would be in very serious trouble. She just wasn't sure exactly _what_ she could do to make things better.

"Your parents will be hoping that Francis's family will help with all this," Sebastian whispered to her, apparently reading the expression on her face again.

Mary stared back at him, trying to read between the lines as she picked up on a hint of bitterness in his words.

To Mary, it seemed that Bash's thoughts about the matchmaking process offered yet more proof that her parents were treating her as another bargaining chip for the country, rather than actually caring about her wish to marry for love.

_You don't have to play their game, though,_ she silently reminded herself. _You can play it your way._

* * *

At last, the 'meeting' in the pub came to an end. Most of the people at the tables departed, making way for more customers as a band arrived and started setting up their equipment.

Mary wasn't really in the mood for music and dancing anymore, after everything she'd just heard, but Bash looked so happy to be there, that she agreed to stay with him for a little while longer before heading back to the castle to face an angry lecture from her mother.

In the end, she was glad she had decided to stay, as the band was especially good-they used traditional instruments to play a mixture of traditional Scottish and Celtic songs, with an audience made up of the young and the old who laughed and sang along, many of them even climbing up onto tables and chairs to dance. To Mary, they all looked so uninhibited; so free.

Now feeling slightly more relaxed as she realised that everybody was too busy drinking and dancing to pay much attention to her, she removed her coat and hat and watched the band with a smile on her face as the music picked up its pace.

"Would you like to dance?" Bash asked Mary with a smirk and a mocking bow as he held out a hand to her.

Mary rolled her eyes at him, but then she grinned and nodded and took his hand. She was at a _real_ party tonight, and she was determined to enjoy it.

Bash ended up helping her up onto one of the tables, and the two of them danced on its surface, laughing the whole time, while Mary thought about how wonderful it was to be out at night at this forbidden place with a handsome young man; to just dance and laugh and let go for what felt like the first time in a long time.

As Bash started to spin her around in time to the music, Mary imagined that she was just an ordinary girl, without any responsibilities, without all of her baggage from the past couple of years; she was just an ordinary girl who had met this ordinary boy in the village, and now they were at a party together, with nobody watching them, waiting for them to make a mistake.

But then, she started to spin even faster, and suddenly, she was sixteen years old again, spinning around in the French castle; she was running towards the prince with blond, wavy hair. _"Francis!"_ she was calling out to him in her thoughts, trying to get to him before it was too late…

Mary must have stumbled, because she found herself in Bash's arms, with him holding her tight, as though he had just caught her before she fell. She couldn't help thinking about the photo-shoot earlier, when Francis had reached out for her as she tripped over. And then she felt almost guilty, for thinking so much about Francis when she was here with Bash.

"Mary, are you all right?" Sebastian whispered to her as he continued to hold her up. There was a look of genuine concern on his face.

"I'm fine," Mary quickly reassured him as he asked her again if she was okay. Desperately, she tried to place the invisible mask back on her face. She felt so embarrassed for allowing her thoughts of the past to take over again. "Perhaps I just need to rest for a minute."

Leaving Bash to dance, and promising him yet again that she was fine, Mary walked away and went to lean against the bar for a little while, appreciating the music from a distance.

After only a couple of songs, Mary noticed that a crowd of girls had taken her place around Bash, and he seemed to be flirting with all of them, apparently glad of the attention.

Mary felt a slight flicker of jealousy, but then, to her surprise, she realised that this jealousy was nowhere near as strong as the strange emotion she'd felt when she'd caught Francis talking to Olivia earlier.

_Interesting…_ a knowing voice in her head that sounded a bit like her mother seemed to be telling her.

_But, you don't even like Francis…_ another voice cut in-this one was the voice of the teenage girl who wanted to run away and be a rebel, and who seemed to think that Sebastian was very attractive.

Do _you like him?_ the other, more logical voice asked her, not wanting to go down without a fight.

_But Francis hates you..._ The teenage rebel was back in her thoughts, mocking her. _He doesn't want to marry you. He likes Olivia better. And Lola too, perhaps…_

Mary shook her head, trying to clear it of those very uncomfortable thoughts.

_Francis, will you marry me?_

Suddenly, another voice was in her head, although this voice sounded much more like Mary as a child. As she blinked in surprise, Mary was certain that she had just stumbled upon some remnant of a memory that she'd kept locked away for a long time-something about this line just seemed so familiar, but she couldn't find the other pieces in her mind to put this whole memory together.

"Must have a girl in every town, that one!"

Mary's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a voice coming from behind her. Startled, she turned around to see the barman, leaning against the bar as he nodded knowingly in Bash's direction.

"Ay, I know the type!" he continued the moment he had Mary's full attention. He pointed right at Bash, who was still distracted by the pretty girls around him. With another chuckle, the barman smiled at her before he started to clean a few empty glasses.

Mary did her best to smile back at him, but she didn't really find what he had said about Bash very funny. Mainly because she suspected it was true. He had told her so himself, last night at the ball, in not so many words. Still, something about Bash fascinated her; she still looked at him as he continued to charm all the girls in the room.

* * *

Eventually, Mary decided to step out of the room for a few moments, to collect her thoughts.

She went out a side door that led to a narrow hallway. There was a flight of stairs in the hallway that Mary supposed led to more function rooms upstairs.

She had just sat down on the stairs when the door was flung open. The woman with dark hair stormed out into the hallway, with Bash not far behind her.

Hurriedly, Mary ran to the top of the stairs, hiding herself from view. When she was certain that they couldn't see her, she leaned against the banister, trying to overhear what the two of them were saying...

"You made a mistake bringing her here!" the woman was shouting at Bash, the anger and disappointment in her tone of voice almost reminding Mary of her mother's heated discussion with James last night. "You could have put us all in terrible danger!"

Mary frowned in confusion, wondering why her presence at this local pub had risked putting _anyone_ in danger of anything.

She missed the next part of the discussion, as the music coming from the other room was still rather loud, but then, during a brief pause in the playing of musical instruments, she could pick up on a few words again:

"The _last_ thing we need is for the Valois to get involved in our plans…trust me, I'm telling you this from experience," the woman told Bash. "You are well aware of what happens to those who cross them."

Bash muttered something in response, but Mary couldn't make out what he had said.

"She is going to marry the future king of France!" the woman continued to shout. "You must keep her at a distance, Sebastian!"

"Nothing is set in stone," Bash replied, his tone of voice more defiant than Mary had heard before. "She has other options."

The woman made a noise that was somewhere between amusement and derision, as though the idea of Mary having 'other options' was ludicrous to her.

It suddenly occurred to Mary that the timing of their arrival at the pub this evening had been no accident-for whatever reason, Bash had wanted her to hear the grievances of the Scottish public; he had wanted their words to have an effect on her.

Annoyingly, Mary missed even more of what was being said downstairs, until the noise coming from the main room died down again.

"Take care, my boy," Mary could now hear the woman telling Bash, her tone of voice sounding softer, more sympathetic now that she had calmed down. "Or you will risk losing _everything_ we have worked for, and all for a girl who will _never_ be yours."


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Mary stood outside the castle, on the old stone steps that led to the main front doors, surrounded by family members and several teams of royal staff as they waited for Kenna's arrival.

Various photographers lined the long driveway leading up to the castle's entrance, ready to take pictures of Kenna's 'happy reunion' with James after a few weeks spent apart, along with members of the camera crew from the television show, who also lingered around the driveway and the front doors, ready to capture any footage that they could use for the next episode of the show.

Mary kept her eyes fixed on the floor, not feeling ready to face the world or the cameras today. She remained lost in her thoughts, thinking over and over about the conversation she had overheard at the pub yesterday evening, along with all of the grievances of the people who had been there for the meeting in the back of the room. Again, she couldn't help thinking that there were even more secrets being kept from her, or worse, that there were things going on that she didn't yet understand.

Mary knew she probably looked a mess, as she'd only thrown on a pair of dark jeans and an old black jumper when she'd been getting dressed about an hour ago. She wasn't even sure that the designer, high-heeled boots she'd also put on compensated for the general lack of care when it came to the rest of her outfit, or the dark circles under her eyes, or her frequent yawns.

Her mother's reproachful glare seemed to confirm this.

Her mother also glared over at Narcisse, who was standing at the back of the crowd, just out of sight of the camera lens. It was as though her mother thought that Mary's current disheveled appearance was somehow his fault.

Narcisse simply shrugged back at the queen, as though silently trying to tell her he could only do so much when it came to making Mary look presentable.

Her mother then waved back over in Mary's direction, as though trying to get her attention.

Turning away from them both, Mary sighed to herself. She wasn't even sure what was wrong, exactly-she'd thought that spending an evening at a party with Bash would have cheered her up a little, but she couldn't help feeling even more miserable than she had felt yesterday morning, if that was even possible.

To her own surprise, spending some time with Bash had done nothing to ease her fears over filming the television show with Francis. In fact, now she felt like she had been left with even more unanswered questions.

Not far from Mary, Francis also stood on the stairs, with his team of French staff gathered around him. He looked just as exhausted as Mary felt, and she wondered what had been keeping _him_ up all night.

Mary had been trying to ignore her mother's silent instructions for as long as possible, but in the end, she was forced to look back at her, just in time to see her mother making some sort of over-the-top hand gesture that seemed to be indicating that Mary should be standing a little closer to Francis.

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Mary looked at Francis with an apologetic expression on her face, trying to ask him without words whether it would be okay to do as her mother asked.

Francis simply nodded, before he took a few steps closer to her.

Noticing that his expression was a lot less guarded than it was yesterday, Mary discreetly whispered, "Are you angry?", just loud enough for him to hear the question.

"No," Francis responded, his tone of voice soft, gentle now. He even managed a sort-of smile.

Mary nodded, relieved that at the very least, he was not holding a grudge after yesterday's argument. As a result, she felt some of the tension easing between them-for now, anyway.

Suddenly, the sight of an expensive black car pulling into the main gates announced Kenna's arrival. An excited chatter seemed to spread among the crowd, especially among the photographers.

As soon as the car came to a halt, the driver got out to open the door for Kenna.

Kenna emerged gracefully from the car with a smile already on her face, not at all phased by all the cameras. Mary noticed that she was wearing a long, light pink dress, along with sparkling silver jewels in her hair and around her wrists and her neck, and the jewels seemed to glimmer in the sunlight. It was the kind of extravagant outfit that Mary would never have felt comfortable wearing.

Kenna smiled and waved at all of the photographers, taking all of the attention in her stride. In fact, Mary could tell that she was enjoying it. She span around several times so that the press could get a photo of her designer dress from every possible angle, along with all her expensive jewels as they caught the light of the camera flashes.

"Kenna!" Mary could hear several photographers call out enthusiastically to her, all of them trying to get the best shot. "Kenna, over here!"

Mary might as well have been invisible. Every single journalist and photographer was entirely focused on Kenna, who smiled and pouted for them all while she skillfully answered their questions, saying just enough, but not giving too much away as they all hung on to her every word.

_Well,_ Mary thought to herself, unable to keep the bitterness out of her thoughts, _what is a second-born princess to a future queen, after all?_

Mary remembered a school visit to Buckingham Palace in London three or four years ago, when Kenna had happened to be there too, on a visit with her own school. She remembered how Kenna had stood outside the palace gates, posing for photographs with her classmates and bragging to them all about how _she_ would marry a prince or a king one day, and live in a palace of her own.

At the time, Mary and Greer had found her predictions hilarious. They had discreetly smirked at each other and rolled their eyes as they stood at a distance from Kenna and the rest of the students from her school, amused at how unlikely Kenna's ambitions were.

Now, Mary had a feeling that on Kenna and James's wedding day, Kenna would be the one laughing at them.

"James!" Kenna suddenly called out, snapping Mary out of her memory, and Mary looked behind her, just in time to see her older brother run down the steps and towards the path where Kenna was standing.

"Kenna!" James called out to her in reply as he got closer. To everyone listening, he must have sounded like a young lover who had been pining for his absent love for weeks on end, and now he was overjoyed that they were finally reunited.

Kenna was smiling back at him, playing along just as well in front of the cameras. "James!" she called out to him for the second time, her voice apparently full of emotion as she held out her arms to him.

When James got close to her, he picked her up and span her around, and then, when James had put her back down, he dipped her, so low that Kenna's long, light brown hair skimmed the ground, and then he kissed her on the lips while all of the photographers eagerly took photos, trying to capture this 'perfect' moment, no doubt so that it could be displayed on websites and on the front pages of newspapers and magazines.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary noticed that Franics's eyes had widened the moment James span Kenna around, and then he seemed to jump a little when James and Kenna kissed, as though he was a bit shocked, or overwhelmed, by the over-the-top display of affection.

"They rehearse it in advance," Mary explained to him in a whisper, taking pity on Francis as she nodded her head at a still-kissing James and Kenna; "they rehearse all of it repeatedly."

Francis looked kind of relieved at her words, and for a few seconds, he and Mary shared a look of what was almost amusement at James and Kenna's antics.

Mary couldn't help feeling relieved that Francis probably wouldn't expect _her_ to take part in any of these public displays of affection in front of the cameras.

The shared moment of amusement was interrupted however, when Kenna started walking up the stone steps towards them, with James trailing behind her.

"Oh, it's you," said Kenna, the moment she caught sight of Mary. She looked less than enthusiastic to see her.

"Nice to see you, too, Kenna," Mary replied with a curt nod of her head, trying to keep the biting sarcasm out of her voice.

Kenna looked like she had a few sarcastic comments ready to say in reply, but she was cut off by Francis, who moved a little closer to introduce himself to her.

Mary noticed that the press seemed to be focused on the four of them at the moment, and she imagined that the pictures of James and Kenna talking to Mary and Francis would be rather lucrative-to the public, it would seem like a shot of two future kings and two future queens standing together.

For his part, Francis was very polite, and he smiled at Kenna as he shook her hand, ignoring the cameras.

Kenna seemed to find _him_ a lot more interesting than she found Mary. "How are you finding cold, rainy Scotland?" she asked Francis with a smirk.

This time, Mary shared a look of exasperation with James. She was sure her brother would agree with her that the weather in England, where Kenna's family was from, was not much better.

"It's not so bad," Francis responded cryptically to Kenna's question, a polite smile still on his face.

"It must be rather strange for a future king like you," Kenna pressed on, in the bossy voice she always liked to use, "to be taking part in a television show, and dating a girl who is not even the heir to _her_ country's throne-"

"Kenna!" said Mary in an angry whisper, but Kenna ignored her.

"It's no great sacrifice," Francis responded with a shrug, still as cryptic as ever.

"Mary must really be worth it," Kenna went on, as tactless as she always was as she paid no attention to Mary's warning glare.

"She is," Francis replied.

Before Kenna could say anything else, a member of Francis's Publicity Team ushered him away to take a phone call from a member of the Italian royal family.

"Mary, he is in love with you," Kenna suddenly declared, the moment Francis walked away.

"Kenna!" Mary snapped at her, feeling her cheeks colouring at such a bold statement.

_How could you_ possibly _know that after one minute of interaction?!_ Mary really wanted to demand of her, but before she could get over her shock or collect her thoughts and put them into words, Kenna turned away and headed towards the castle doors, leaving Mary to stand at the top of the steps, almost in a daze as she puzzled over the responses that Francis had just given to Kenna's questions, as well as the bizarre conclusion that Kenna had drawn from the conversation.

* * *

Eventually, Mary had to make a move, as people were jostling to get past her on their way back into the castle, and Kenna and James were already making their way through the main doors that led back inside to the entrance hall.

Mary lagged a few steps behind James and Kenna. The moment they were safely back inside and out of sight of the photographers, Mary noticed that the two of them gave each other a high-five, as though congratulating each other on a job well done outside.

"Hello, Kenna," James told her, as though this was their first real greeting to one another, unlike their public display of affection outside.

"Hello to you, too, James," Kenna replied, her smile slightly more sincere now.

In spite of the friendly words exchanged between them, Mary couldn't help but shudder. Kenna and James had agreed to an arranged marriage that would help to strengthen an alliance between Scotland and England, and Mary had suspected for a long time that there were no real romantic feelings between the two of them. They shared a friendship, at best, but still, it wasn't always easy to watch them as they manipulated the media with their 'young lovers' act.

Mary dreaded the very thought of her own life ending up this way; she couldn't imagine being married to somebody who she was not in love with; she couldn't imagine always having to perform for the cameras the way that Kenna did.

Trying to distract herself, Mary glanced around the entrance hall. She spotted Lola and Narcisse, apparently hiding away in a corner as they conversed in low voices. It seemed that they weren't in the mood for socialising with everyone this morning, and instead preferred each other's company.

Trying not to think too much just yet about what Narcisse had told her yesterday about his son, Mary looked back at Kenna, who also seemed to be looking all around the entrance hall, as though taking it all in. She looked from the floor to the ceiling, glancing at all of the portraits of royal ancestors along the way as she smiled and let out a happy-sounding sigh.

Mary could easily guess what she was thinking-that some day soon, all of this would be hers.

Mary couldn't help feeling the all-too-familiar twist of resentment. When that day came, she knew that she would no longer be as welcome at the castle; she knew that all the major decisions focusing on the day-to-day life of the royals would eventually fall into Kenna's hands. James was so laid-back, and he would hardly put up a fight to all of Kenna's demands.

Unable to look at that ambitious glint in Kenna's eyes anymore, Mary turned away from her, just in time to see Bash, who happened to be walking through the entrance hall at that very moment.

Mary felt slightly awkward as she recalled how she'd fallen into his arms when they were dancing last night, probably looking like an idiot the whole time; how she had lost herself again in her memories of the past, in spite of the happy atmosphere at the pub; and also how that woman had told Bash he shouldn't have even brought Mary to the pub in the first place, as though they were both hiding something.

She really hoped that Bash wouldn't mention any of that, especially now that a large crowd had gathered in the entrance hall due to Kenna's arrival.

Apparently though, Bash knew how to be discreet when it was necessary. He nodded politely at Mary as he crossed the entrance hall and moved closer to her.

"Princess," he greeted her with a quick bow the moment he was within earshot. Right now, he sounded like a staff member who was simply being polite to the daughter of his employer.

Mary was about to say hello, or make small-talk about the weather, or maybe ask him how work had been so far for him today, when she heard the sound of someone approaching. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Kenna walking over to her. She looked like she had been sent over to fetch Mary for something, probably on the current queen's behalf.

"Mary, your mother wants you to-" she started to say in a bored tone of voice, but then she paused midsentence, apparently distracted by something. "Oh, hello," she said suddenly, looking right at Bash as a smile crept to her face. This smile looked a lot more genuine than before.

"Hello," Bash responded, and Mary noticed that a smile crept to his face, too, as he looked at Kenna. It was not his usual confident, flirtatious smile that Mary had grown used to over the past couple of days, either. Instead, his smile was softer, almost shy.

"I'm Kenna," Kenna told Bash as she held out her hand for him to shake. Mary noted that she hadn't even made a point of introducing herself as 'Lady Kenna'.

"I'm Sebastian," said Bash in response, keeping hold of Kenna's hand for a few seconds longer than what would probably be considered socially acceptable.

"That ring you're wearing, it's very beautiful," Kenna continued, as she nodded at the ring on Bash's finger, looking genuinely intrigued by it.

Mary frowned in confusion. Normally, Kenna was only ever interested in the most expensive and the most exquisite of jewels, or even those rare jewels belonging to the royal family which were priceless. Mary was sure that the plain ring meant something to _Bash_ , but she wasn't sure why _Kenna_ was suddenly so fascinated by it.

"Thank you," said Bash as he smiled at Kenna. He spoke to her like she was shy and nervous; as though he needed to stay calm and speak softly to her to help her feel at ease. And yet Mary had never seen Kenna act shy or nervous. Ever. "It was a gift from my mother, she bought it from the village here."

Kenna nodded, hanging on to Bash's every word. Usually, whenever Mary or James spoke about the local village, Kenna launched into a long rant about how _boring_ it was there, and how there was never enough to _do_ , but she didn't seem to want to say anything like that now.

As Kenna continued to admire the ring, somehow deciding that it was necessary to take hold of Bash's hand so she could see it up close, Mary wondered again if Bash's mother, who had apparently bought the ring for him, really was the woman who they had encountered at the village pub last night.

After a few more minutes of conversation between Bash and Kenna, with Mary standing awkwardly next to them, Bash bowed to the two of them before he left to head back to work.

"He's _gorgeous_!" Kenna declared the moment Bash walked away, with an almost mischievous grin on her face.

"Kenna!" Mary snapped at her. After all, Kenna was engaged to be married to Mary's brother, and Mary felt like Kenna was being rather disloyal at the moment by saying something like that about Bash.

Kenna didn't seem to agree. She made a point of sighing loudly and rolling her eyes. "It doesn't hurt to _look_ , Mary!" she snapped, making Mary feel clueless and completely out of her depth when it came to men, the way she always did. "There's nothing wrong with admiring from a distance! We didn't _all_ go to school in a convent, you know!"

Mary glared at her. This was Kenna's favourite insult to use about her, and she always ignored Mary's constant insistence that going to a school where a lot of the teachers were nuns was _not_ the same as living in a _convent_.

Even worse, Kenna had often implied that she believed Mary to be very _similar_ to the nuns who had educated her.

Kenna also liked to brag loudly to anyone who would listen about all the boys she'd already kissed before she met James, often leaving Mary feeling young and inexperienced in comparison.

Refusing to be drawn into an argument, Mary walked away from her, already planning on sitting as far away as possible from Kenna and James in the dining hall.

* * *

As the morning turned into afternoon, Mary and her family, along with Kenna and several other guests, ended up outside in the grounds, watching a game of Polo that had hastily been arranged by Mary's father and several staff members.

The players had divided up into two teams, with Francis and James playing on one side with two other team members, and Mary's father and Bash playing against them on the other team, along with a couple of others. Francis had really seemed to want Bash to play this particular game, confirming Mary's belief that the two of them were becoming friends.

As the players rode around on their horses, Mary stood watching them in the distance, with the rest of the spectators.

A few photographers swarmed around, enthusiastically snapping photos of the players and the spectators. Mary knew that games of Polo were seen as being very typical of royal families, and she imagined that the general public would be amused when they saw the photos and the footage of this game.

"Which team are you supporting?" a woman standing next to her asked in a seemingly casual voice.

Mary glanced over at her. It was very clear that the woman was a journalist, and that she would use whatever answer Mary gave to build some kind of article out of it.

"Francis's team, of course," Mary replied with a polite smile. It was the answer she was expected to give, after all. The journalist would have to look for controversy elsewhere. While the cameras were here, Mary would play by the rules.

She turned away from the woman and focused her attention on the crowd around her. Kenna's parents had arrived at the castle a couple of hours ago, and they were now standing on either side of her, only half-watching the game in the distance as they went on and on about how _wonderful_ Kenna looked in her light pink dress.

Mary's mother sat on a chair a little way back from the rest of the crowd, and Mary couldn't help noticing that she looked a bit tired at the moment; Mary really hoped that she was feeling okay. Lola stood behind the queen's chair, occasionally fetching glasses of water for her, and for the first time, Mary realised that Lola was becoming a rather valuable assistant to Queen Marie.

As a photographer took another picture of the spectators, Mary's mind drifted back to yesterday, when she'd been outside in the same garden walking with Francis as the cameras filmed their interaction. With a sigh, she thought about how the events of yesterday had quickly unravelled into an argument, with a little help from Narcisse.

Almost unconsciously, Mary looked up in the direction of the large window where Narcisse had stood yesterday. She jumped, startled, as she saw that somebody else was currently looking down from the large window, dressed all in black. But then her heartbeat returned to its normal rate again when she realised that it was just one of the castle guards, probably on a routine patrol of the corridors.

With an involuntary shudder, Mary tore her eyes away from the window and tried to focus on the game of Polo. As she'd expected, Francis was a very skilled Polo player, and he'd already scored several goals for his team.

Bash however, was a worthy opponent, and Mary wondered when and where Bash had learned to play Polo. Although she imagined he'd probably picked up his horse-riding skills through previous work in various stables. Perhaps he had worked somewhere like this before, riding horses in vast grounds of stately homes or playing games against royals.

For a little while, the scores were almost equal, until Francis scored yet another goal.

As the crowd applauded, Francis caught Mary's eye, and he smiled at her.

As surprised as she was by this gesture, Mary couldn't help smiling back at him. Perhaps Francis had only done it for the cameras, but still, his smile was friendly enough. At the very least, perhaps it meant that he had fully put yesterday's argument behind him.

Only a few minutes later, Bash was the one to score a goal, and he moved a little closer to the spectators as he rode in a circle in celebration.

As he got closer, Kenna leaned forward, staring at Bash as though mesmerised.

"No, Kenna," Kenna's mother whispered to her, shaking her head almost warningly until Kenna turned her gaze away from Bash.

"That boy's got 'rebel' written all over him," Kenna's father added in a tone of obvious disapproval.

Mary listened to this interaction with a frown on her face. She wondered what Kenna's father had meant by his comment.

For all that Kenna was pretending to ignore Bash for her parents' sake, she noticed that Bash smiled at her as he rode past, and Kenna managed to smile back at him.

Mary was distracted however, when Bash rode past her and smiled at her, too. Mary nodded at him, but she also managed a half-smile when she was sure the other spectators weren't looking. When it came to Bash, Mary always felt that the two of them were in on some sort of secret together, although she wasn't sure what that secret was supposed to be.

The moment Bash left them to re-join the game, Mary noticed Kenna look over her shoulder to stare at her, with a very curious expression on her face.

_There are already too many secrets,_ Mary thought to herself, as she ignored Kenna and focused on the game again, just in time to see Francis score the winning goal.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days passed by relatively peacefully.

With everyone in the castle distracted by Kenna's visit, and Francis's time often taken up by phone calls, meetings, conferences and various other royal duties, Mary was able to slip away from the castle unnoticed several times and head into the village.

Sometimes, on her visits to the village, she crept into the local pub, alone and disguised, with her face covered by various hats, where she would secretly listen in on the various meetings that took place there during late afternoons and early evenings, feeling overcome with curiosity to hear more about life outside the castle as several citizens of Scotland voiced their disapproval of the way that the country was run.

At other times, she snuck out of the castle with Bash after he finished work for the day, and the two of them would walk around the outskirts of the village, or by the river where Mary had always spent time with James, back before her older brother had decided that his royal duties had to take priority over anything else.

Of course, filming for the show still had to take place. After the Polo match on the day of Kenna's arrival, the cameras were next invited back into the castle to film a 'small', 'intimate' tea party that a few family friends had been invited to, along with several Scottish politicians.

Mary couldn't distictly remember the faces of many of the guests at the tea party, as events like that were so frequent at the castle, and the royal family had so many visitors, but several of the politicians in attendance suggested to her that she should perhaps pay a visit to the English Houses of Parliament, especially now that her brother was forging an alliance with England through marriage. They seemed to think that it would make for a good episode of the show if she made a speech about Scottish policies in London.

Once, Mary would not have been so keen on the idea of going to Parliament and making a speech, but with everything that had happened recently, and all the conversations she was overhearing in the village, she was now starting to wonder if it would perhaps be a good idea to try too talk about Scottish politics in public.

Filming that day also consisted of a tour around the castle, which Mary and Francis were expected to take the lead on, with the two of them walking around various rooms and up and down corridors and flights of stairs as a camera crew and several guards followed them.

The show's producers had insisted that this would be an excellent opportunity for viewers to learn more about the lives of the royal family, but privately, Mary suspected that they were just using the tour as an excuse to get a good look around the castle for themselves. Even the guards seemed much more interested than usual in viewing the rooms and the antique objects on display.

Although Mary and Francis didn't have the chance to spend much time together at the tea party, due to the fact that they were both expected to walk around the room and make polite conversation with all the guests, as well as all the television crew, Francis was still friendly with her, letting her take the lead with the tour of the castle, and nodding and smiling politely when she talked about the history of various portraits and antique objects for the benefit of the cameras.

Francis even brought several cups of tea over to Mary throughout the afternoon, even though Mary's mother frequently insisted that it was not socially acceptable for a future king to be carrying trays of tea and cake around the room.

It seemed that Francis was keeping to his part of the agreement to try to make this process as easy as possible for the two of them, which allowed Mary to relax a little as the cameras continued to film them throughout the day.

* * *

Deep down, Mary had a horrible feeling that the new-found peace wouldn't last. Her theory was proved correct not long after Kenna left the castle to return to her life in London for a little while, before she would next be expected to appear with the royal family as a guest at Greer's wedding.

In the morning, Mary was 'summoned' by her mother to the family's private dining room, where her parents-both of them with grave expressions on their faces-had displayed various magazine and newspaper articles on the table, including digital and print copies of all the latest headlines.

Every single front-page story seemed to focus on Kenna's visit to the castle, although none of them had anything positive to say. Instead, the journalists wrote seemingly endless words about just how expensive the designer pink dress that Kenna had worn had cost, along with the estimated price of all of her jewels, criticising the over-spending of the royal family and highlighting the fact that this was happening at a time when the country was in very serious debt, and many citizens lived in poverty.

Mary might have been used to stories like these-ever since the royal family had been re-established in Scotland, journalists had accused the royals of being 'out of touch' with the rest of the country, especially as the younger members of the family had been educated at exclusive private schools in London, away from Scotland-but still, it didn't stop the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as her mother frowned at a picture of Kenna posing in an expensive dress.

"We must do something to take the focus off this," Mary's mother muttered, almost to herself, as she took a sip of her strong cup of coffee and regarded yet another front page headline, while her father nodded and muttered something about 'damage control'.

For a brief, carefree moment, Mary imagined that she would not have to be involved in this 'damage control', but as usual, her assumptions were wrong.

She found out just how wrong she was when her mother called her in for a meeting in one of the castle's conference rooms right after breakfast.

"You will be expected to give an interview to Lord Castleroy soon," her mother informed her before Mary could even take a seat. "Standard procedure, as part of the matchmaking process..."

"Fine," Mary responded with a very un-princess-like shrug. She already knew that frequent interviews were a requirement of the television show; they were used to mark 'checkpoints' along the journey, letting viewers know how things were going, summarising the dating process for them and catching them up with how she and Francis were feeling about everything.

"And, in light of recent events, I was thinking..." her mother began, in a tone of voice that sounded far too casual for Mary's liking.

Mary frowned at her in suspicion. "You were thinking _what_?" she asked her mother, her eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps we could use this interview as a way of diverting attention from the negative press about Lady Kenna?" her mother asked.

"And how would 'we' do that?" Mary asked her in return, with her arms folded.

"In the interview," her mother continued, her tone of voice all-business now, "you try your best to appear casual, relaxed, down-to earth. We won't spend too much money on the clothes, or on the setting up of a fancy room for the interview. I'll tell Castleroy to ask questions about normal, every day topics; nothing too heavy, or any questions that might sound too 'out of touch'."

Mary could only shake her head, realising that she was going to be used yet again as a PR tool for the royals.

"And of course, you make sure to mention Francis at every opportunity; try to at least _act_ like a girl falling in love, even if you don't feel that way just yet. Smile and laugh, place your hand over your heart, blush and giggle-do whatever you must to sell the love story and distract everyone from all our other problems..."

Mary felt her heart start to beat faster, with the dread of having to put on a good show and act like a typical teenager-with-a-crush already starting to kick in.

"If we keep giving them a romance to invest in," her mother insisted, "perhaps they will forget about all their plans to riot and protest, if only for a while..."

* * *

Mary was not so sure that things were that simple, but still, a few days later, she found herself standing in front of the large mirror that had been moved to the centre of the television room, taking in her reflection as Narcisse paced up and down the room and she waited to be called for her interview with Aloysius Castleroy.

She stared at her reflection, almost unable to recognise the girl who was staring right back at her with a very nervous expression on her face.

For today's interview, the sylists had dressed her in a plain-and-simple outfit: a white, off-the-shoulder shirt, black trousers and black shoes with a small heel. Her hair had been tied into one braid, which hung loosely over her left shoulder. The only piece of jewelery she had been permitted to wear was the small silver key, which hung as usual from its black ribbon around her neck.

It didn't take an expert to work out the kind of image the stylists were going for-as she continued to stare at her reflection, Mary knew that she looked young, innocent, non-threatening. Her clothes were not expensive or extravagant, and her jewelery was minimal. She looked like a typical teenage girl who did not have the means nor the inclination to be overly careless with her words, or overly extravagant with her money.

After a couple more minutes of aimlessly staring into the mirror, Mary noticed that Narcisse had started to walk in circles around her, with a calculating expression on his face.

As she stared at him, Mary felt strangely as though she had stepped into some sort of lion's den, with no armour or weapons to defend herself.

"This could be a very important interview for you," he murmured, as he continued to circle her, his hand on his chin like he was deep in thought.

"This is a very important interview for my _mother_ ," Mary corrected him with a sigh. She was under no illusion that the purpose of this interview was for anything other than to provide some good publicity for the Scottish crown.

"Not necessarily," Narcisse replied with a shrug that seemed far too innocent.

Mary knew that she probably shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help herself: "What do you mean?"

"You have been given a platform here; air time, publicity, _exposure_. This is your chance to show the public who you really are. To talk about your hopes, your dreams, your goals...your political ideas, even. Now that you're a 'television star', people are curious about you. They're _listening_ now, Mary. You are potentially a future queen, and your subjects will be _very_ interested to hear what you have to say..."

"My brother is the heir to the throne," Mary responded automatically. She had been saying this for so long that it had now become second nature to her.

"Not in France," Narcisse whispered with a very significant expression on his face as he took a step closer to her. "You are naive if you think that only Scotland will be watching today."

Mary blinked a few times in quick succession as she stared back at her reflection. She had never even considered the idea that the French public would be watching all of her television appearances, too, or the idea that they might already consider her as their next queen.

"You do not have to blindly follow you mother's orders," Narcisse continued to whisper to her. "This matchmaking process is an opportunity to act in _your_ own best interests, too. Why shouldn't you take advantage of the opportunity?

Mary was about to say something in response, but Narcisse was suddenly called out of the room by one of the television producers. He was scheduled to go downstairs to the room where the interview would be taking place and take his seat among the audience before the cameras started rolling.

With a final nod in her direction, he left the room, leaving Mary alone with her thoughts and with a few remaining members of the Publicity Team as she waited to be called down to the interview room, too.

Trying to ignore her ever-growing nerves as the minutes ticked away, Mary passed the time by going through a couple of the pages of the document her mother and Narcisse had put together for today's interview. Mary read over a few of the pre-planned questions that were going to be asked-she had already gone through her answers with Narcisse for the past couple of days. She also read over a few of the paragraphs which focused on other possible questions that might be asked, and suggestions for possible answers to these questions, but she kept getting distracted by the sound of a clock ticking, and thinking about how the seconds were racing away from her.

She had just gone back to turning the pages of the document when a loud knocking sound made her jump.

It seemed that most of the other people in the room were occupied looking at their phones and standing and talking to each other in small groups, so Mary went to open the door.

When she opened it, she was a bit surprised to see a guard standing on the other side, dressed all in black, with a very serious expression on his face.

"Your highness," he greeted her with a curt nod, before he continued: "Your Publicist has put in a last-minute request that you wear this pin today for your interview." He held out his hand, where the pin was resting on his palm.

Mary stared at it, and she almost gasped in shock-it was in the shape of a bird in flight, with the bird's wings spread wide, its head looking upwards, as though it was staring up at the sky.

Although she felt the usual prickle of curiosity-and the urge to quickly take hold of the pin and display in proudly on her shirt-she couldn't help feeling a little surprised at the last minute request; the plans for today's outfit had seemed to be set in stone, and nobody had mentioned anything about this bird-in-flight pin.

"Narcisse has asked me to wear this?" Mary asked him with a confused frown. The guard's face did not look familiar, but that wasn't exactly unusual-there were many guards who worked at the castle, and Mary's mother had only very recently recruited several new guards in a bid to tighten security.

"Yes, Princess," the guard replied, almost a little too quickly. Yet the almost-bored look on his face suggested that he had simply been sent to the room as a messenger and probably didn't want to be asked too many questions about Narcisse's plans, as he didn't actually know the answers, or care either way.

With a shrug, Mary accepted the pin from the guard, before she thanked him and gently closed the door.

After a few more seconds of hesitation, Mary pinned the bird-in-flight to the left-hand side of her shirt. She stared at it in the mirror for a little while, in barely-disguised fascination-it was a symbol that seemed to be appearing before her everywhere she went lately, although she still had no idea what it was supposed to mean. Sometimes, it felt like the bird was dancing just out of her reach, not yet ready to reveal its secrets-or perhaps it was simply waiting for her to take off after it.

But then Mary snapped out of her daydream about birds soaring into the sky as she started to think more logically. Perhaps Narcisse had simply decided that the bird pin looked sweet-and-innocent; a harmless, inexpensive piece of jewelery that a young girl would buy, and that was why he had probably decided she should wear it on camera today.

There was another knock on the door, and then a member of the television crew was swooping into the room, telling her that it was time to go and give her interview.

* * *

The setting for the interview was even more relaxed and informal than Mary could have imagined. Her mother had decided that it should take place in the drawing room, in two comfortable chairs by the fireplace.

Of course, several members of the royal family were there, including Mary's brother, and then there was Francis, who had been seated near the front of the room, at a convenient angle for the cameras to film him and take pictures throughout Mary's interview, no doubt so that they could use the footage for the next episode of the show.

A few members of the public had also been invited, most of them young girls who seemed to be Mary's age or perhaps a couple of years younger, and the rest of the seats were taken up by various members of staff who worked at the castle, who seemed to have been asked to sit in on the interview to make the room look more full, and to make it seem as though Mary had a large, captive audience just waiting to hear what she had to say.

Lord Castleroy's smile was friendly as Mary walked through the audience and towards the chairs at the front of the room, and there seemed to be less tension in the air than there had been during the first television appearance in the Throne Room.

"Mary!" he beamed at her, the second she had sat down, his tone of voice and the more informal setting helping her to relax a little.

She could almost ignore the fact that there were several cameras filming her from every angle, and the fact that a few guards were leaning against the walls with their arms folded, and of course the fact that the journalists and the members of the public in the room were holding their phones, ready to capture every single word and gesture, especially the unguarded ones.

Mary kept her eyes fixed on the audience for a few seconds longer. First she looked at Francis, who was looking very handsome, although he didn't seem to have received the memo about the more informal approach today, as his white, long-sleeved shirt looked very expensive. He was standing close to one of the large windows in the room, and the sunlight shining through the glass seemed to reflect perfectly on his golden hair. Mary imagined that several photographers in the room would want to take advantage of this perfect angle when they took photos of him.

Then she noticed Bash, who was sitting near the back of the room. He gave her the slightest hint of a smirk when she caught his eye, and Mary tried not to smile back at him. She knew that if she and Bash had gone to school together in London, he would have been such a distraction to her-the two of them probably would have sat at the back of the classroom, laughing at all the teachers and their old-fashioned views.

Lola was also sitting in the room, a few rows in front of Bash with a clipboard in her hand.

Narcisse stood in a far corner of the room, surrounded by a few other members of Mary's publicity team. He was standing far away enough that he was out of sight of the cameras, but close enough that he would be able to offer Mary a few silent prompts if she struggled at any point during the interview.

Yet Mary's mother was notably absent. This threw Mary for a second-normally, her mother liked to oversee _everything_. She realised that by leaving her alone to do this, her mother might actually be _trusting_ her for the first time ever to do this 'damage control' properly without being instructed like a child on how to behave in public.

The interview started gently enough. While Mary made sure to sit correctly and to look sweet and innocent and to smile at all the right moments, Castleroy asked her a few questions that several of the television show's viewers had sent in via various social media pages-the questions were fairly innocent, mainly about things like her favourite colour, and her favourite food, and some of her favourite dresses she'd worn at royal events (Mary made sure not to talk about the more expensive dresses that she'd previously worn at parties and on royal tours).

As she was talking, she glanced discreetly over at Narcisse, who nodded subtletly at her, silenty letting her know that she was on the right track.

Feeling a little more relaxed now that Narcisse had given his seal of approval, Mary continued to answer the social media questions, opening up to the audience about some of her hobbies and interests: she talked about her favourite books, and how she liked to draw and paint in her free time. As she spoke about her pictures, almost unconsciously, she reached a hand up to touch the key that was still hanging from the ribbon around her neck, but then she quickly let her hand fall when she realised she was doing it.

Most of the people in the audience seemed both surprised and impressed that she was so passionate about drawing and painting, which made Mary think that perhaps the members of the royal family should showcase their talents a litte more.

Then, Mary talked about her school days in London. Again, the audience seemed surprised when she mentioned how much she had enjoyed studying history and politics and economics, and there were definitely a few whispers of approval when Mary recited several facts about Scottish history that she'd memorised over the years, along with a few figures that she knew from memory which related to the royal budget. Even Francis looked impressed.

Mary was almost enjoying herself. It was so much easier to do this, she realised, when she was speaking in honesty; when she was just being herself and talking about topics that actually interested her.

Mary even spoke a little French for them, making sure to joke about how her skills in the language were lacking, and how she would definitely need to practice, which drew a laugh from the audience. To Mary's surprise, they even gave her a round of applause when she spoke a few more words in French about French royal policies.

"So, Mary," said Aloysius, his tone of voice suddenly a little more serious, "let's say you were a queen, ruling your own country. What's the first thing you would do?"

It seemed like all the talk of history and politics had encouraged Aloysius to ask a question that attempted to delve a little deeper than the previous questions about her favourite colour and her favourite outfit.

Feeling a little thrown by the question, Mary stopped to think for a few moments before she answered. When she _really_ thought about it, she knew that there were lots of things that she would like to do-or, more accurately a lot of things that she would like to change; things she would do differently. All of the speeches and proposals secretly saved on her computer would back these ideas up.

She had just never allowed herself to put any of these proposals into words before, fixed as she had always been in her position as the second-born royal daughter who always had to do as she was told. But then Narcisse's words in the television room came back to her-about how people were listening to her now, and how she should use the opportunity to show people who she really was.

In the end, Mary decided to answer with something that had been on her mind a lot recently: "I would try my best to negotiate with those who are...dissatisfied with the policies of the royal family," she said seriously, thinking as she spoke about all those people who had to meet in secret in hidden corners of the local pub so they could talk about how they were suffering as a result of current Scottish rules and policies.

A few murmurs seemed to echo through the otherwise silent room the moment Mary finished answering the question.

Feeling a sudden, strange shift in the mood, and an increase in tension in the air, Mary discreetly looked at Narcisse, to see if she had made a mistake in what she had just said.

But still, Narcisse nodded at her, and he even lifted his hands to give her a discreet thumbs-up.

"Interesting," said Aloysius, as Mary continued to talk about the citizens who were perhaps not so happy with the policies of the Scottish royal family, but she couldn't help noticing the rather nervous expression on his face.

Of course, Mary knew that the focus of the interview would soon have to shift to the matchmaking process-there was still a television show to film, after all. Perhaps sooner than she would have liked, the topic of conversation turned to Francis and the royal matchmaking show.

Mary went back to 'autopilot', giving the answers that she had already rehearsed with Narcisse-keeping things vague, but still trying to keep people interested in the show at the same time.

She talked about her walk with Francis in the grounds (making sure not to mention the argument they'd had that day), and also the game of Polo when Kenna had visited, and the royal tea party, and the tour around the castle.

Aloysius asked her several times when she was planning a visit to France to meet with Francis's family-the French royals-as apparently most of the show's viewers had been asking the same question, and it seemed that they thought this visit to France would play a necesary part in the matchmaking process.

Mary wasn't sure what to say in response. She had put all thoughts of a possible visit to France to the back of her mind, as the idea of spending time in Francis's home country, at a place that held such awful memories, where she would be alone with Francis and with only King Henry and Queen Catherine to provide her with other company, absolutely terrified her, especially as she and Francis hadn't really spent much time together yet to get to know each other.

Briefly, Mary considered acting the way that Kenna would act in a situation like this-smiling and waggling her finger and saying, "Now, now, Aloysius! You know that a princess never tells!" but she wasn't sure that she would get away with it the way that Kenna always did.

Instead, Mary had to resort to her default reaction of keeping things vague. "Nothing has been arranged just yet, so we will have to see," she replied, making sure to smile.

In order to compensate for being so vague, Mary continued to talk about the time she had spent with Francis so far, while at the same time deliberately avoiding meeting his eye as he watched her from the front row. She wasn't sure how he was going to react to her apparent reluctance to set a date for a visit to France.

As she continued to talk about the matchmaking process, Mary even used a gesture that she was copying from Kenna, where she deliberately flicked her braided hair over her shoulder as she pretended to giggle, trying to look like a typical young-girl-with-a-crush.

Yet, the moment she turned a little in her seat to try to observe the audience's reaction to this gesture, she noticed Bash staring at her with wide eyes, looking horrified.

Feeling suddenly anxious, Mary looked at other people in the audience, to see if she had done something wrong, or if she had missed something, but nobody else seemed to be looking at her in wide-eyed horror the way that Bash was.

She looked at Bash again; it seemed that his eyes were focused directly on the bird-in-flight pin. Mary felt her heartbeat pick up its pace. She had no idea what was going on, or why he was staring so intently at her pin, but she didn't like his reaction one bit.

Quickly, Mary grabbed hold of her hair and pulled it back over her shoulder, covering up the pin again. She didn't know what had caused Bash's reaction, but something about it made her feel like she had to hide the bird pin on her white shirt.

She was forced to focus on the interview again when Aloysius 'suggested' that Francis come up to the front of the room, so that the audience could 'get a good look at the two of them together'.

Of course, the enthusiastic screaming from the audience made this suggestion impossible to refuse, and so Mary was joined at the front of the room by Francis, who seemed to be struggling to keep a neutral expression on his face as he stood next to Mary so the two of them could pose for the cameras (and the screaming audience) with their arms around one another.

Mary was reminded of all the actors from her favourite television shows; the ones who stood up on stage at events in front of an audience of their fans and performed for the cameras, posing for viewers and photographers alike as they played up to their on-screen love stories.

Yet this was not a television show. She and Francis were not actors. There was no script to follow. This was all real, and there was so much history between the two of them; so much that had not yet been said. And still, they had to pose awkwardly for an audience with their arms around one other, the two of them forcing their smiles and trying to give everyone a glimpse of what they would look like as a couple, and perhaps more importantly, what they would look like as the future king and queen of France.

It was all too much, and again Mary felt that sensation of the room spinning around.

As though he could sense that Mary might lose her balance at any moment, Francis held her a little tighter, placing one hand gently on her arm, as though waiting to catch her if she fell.

As Mary looked into his eyes, the room suddenly stopped spinning around, and the vague outline of another memory started to dance around her mind-most of it just out of reach...

_She was walking through a forest, with white petals falling gently onto her head. Francis was standing a few feet ahead of her, but he looked much younger..._

Mary was abruptly pulled out of this memory when Aloysius started to laugh and joke about how 'wonderful' the two of them looked together. As Mary blinked rapidly, feeling a little annoyed that this memory had slipped away, he wished them both luck with the rest of the process-it seemed he was getting ready to wrap things up.

Then, just before he could head back to his seat, Francis also seemed to notice the pin that Mary was wearing. He frowned at it, and then for some reason, his eyes narrowed in Narcisse's direction. He glared at Narcisse suspiciously for a few moments, apparently forgetting for a second that there were cameras pointed right at him, before he headed back to his seat.

Instantly, he took out his phone, and he seemed to be searching for something on the screen, a troubled expression on his face. It also seemed that he could no longer look in Mary's direction.

The moment the interview came to a close, and the audience gave Mary a final round of applause, Francis excused himself from the room, a look of concern still on his face and his phone pressed to his ear, as though he was about to take a call.

Following his lead, Mary also excused herself from the room, feeling an ever-increasing sense of panic and confusion.

James frowned at her as she walked out, apparently clueless as to why she looked so worried, but Mary ignored him.

* * *

Not really sure where she was going, Mary headed vaguely in the direction of the televison room, deciding that she would wait for Narcisse there and question him as to what had just happened.

She had only taken a few steps however, when she overheard the sound of Francis's voice, coming from the nearest meeting room. He seemed to be in conversation with someone.

Mary crept closer to the meeting room door, taking care not to be noticed.

Francis was standing in the room with his back to her, his phone in his hand. After a few more seconds of eavesdropping, Mary worked out that he was on a video chat with his mother, whose face Mary could just about make out on the screen of Francis's phone.

"Narcisse must _really_ despise her..." Mary heard Catherine tell Francis in a low voice.

Again, Mary frowned in confusion. What were they talking about? Had Narcisse just done something wrong-something to ruin her interview?

As Francis suddenly started to turn back around in the direction of the door, Mary jumped and darted out of sight.

Picking up her pace, she really did run in the direction of the television room this time. When she got there, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her before she took a few deep breaths.

What was going on? What had just happened? Why had both Francis and Bash looked so concerned during the interview?

Suddenly, the door flew open. Mary jumped and turned towards it, fully expecting to see Narcisse. She was therefore more than a little surprised to see Bash, who was taking rapid steps towards her with an expression of fear on his face.

"Bash, what is it? Mary asked him, trying to keep the tone of panic out of her voice.

"Mary, what are you doing, wearing a symbol like that on television?" said Bash in a frantic whisper.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked him, her voice shaking as she placed a hand almost protectively over the bird-in-flight pin.

"That's a rebel symbol, Mary!" Bash exclaimed, and Mary could tell that he was struggling to remain calm and keep his composure. "People who wear bird-in-flight symbols are no friends of the Scottish crown! Regardless of any personal views you might hold, your family won't thank you for wearing something like that in public."

Now starting to feel a little sick, Mary removed her hand from the pin, almost as though it would burn her, if she kept hold of it for too long.

A rebel symbol. So that was what the bird-in-flight meant. For so long, she had wondered; she had read book after book, and scrolled endlessly through websites, trying to find its hidden meaning, and now, finally she had the answer, and the timing of it couldn't have been any worse.

"By wearing something like that, you'll only antagonise the people of Scotland," Bash continued, still looking panicked, "and potential rebels who understand its meaning could take it as encouragement to plot against the crown..."

"Bash," said Mary, her voice still shaking, "how do you know all this?" _And why do you care so much?_ she almost asked him, too.

Before Bash could answer, Narcisse walked into the room.

Quickly, Bash took a step away from her, as though he and Mary had been caught doing something wrong.

"Princess," said Narcisse, his voice silky smooth, without a hint of real worry, "it seems that there's been some...confusion about today's events. Perhaps we should discuss a few things in private?"

Taking this as his cue to leave, Bash hurriedly bowed to Mary and walked out of the room, casting a few worried-looking glances over his shoulder in Mary's direction as he went.

"Did you ask me to wear this pin today?" Mary asked Narcisse immediately, before he could say anything else.

Hurriedly, she removed the pin from her white shirt and held it out for him to see.

"Of course not," Narcisse replied, as though this answer was obvious.

"Did you send a guard to ask me to wear it on your behalf?" Mary continued, desperately needing to know the truth, and quickly.

"No," Narcisse replied, looking at Mary like she was a child who had no clue how the world worked.

"Did you know the meaning behind the symbol, and how it could be linked to Scottish rebels?" she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on him, looking for any hint of deception.

He shook his head.

He actually looked convincing, but still, so many thoughts seemed to whirl around Mary's mind. She thought about Narcisse's reactions during the interview-how he'd encouraged her to keep talking as she wrecklessly made statements that could be seen as pro-rebel. She thought about how the guard had told her that Narcisse had sent him. She thought about Francis, and how much he seemed to hate and mistrust him. She thought about what Catherine had just said to her son, about how Narcisse must despise her...

Narcisse must have seen the look of doubt on her face, because he frowned at her as he continued. "Clearly there has been some kind of misunderstanding, or miscommunication." His tone was firmer now, and Mary felt as though she was being put in her place, or being patronised. "I am employed to help your cause, not to turn Scotland against you."

But still, he said the words with such sincerity, and Mary really wanted to believe him. She had to believe him. She already doubted and mistrusted so many others, and she really needed somebody on her side right now. She needed to not be wrong about this.

Suddenly, she felt afraid; afraid of her own foolish thoughts and actions. A life as a Scottish rebel might have been some childish dream of hers, an unrealistic fantasy, but still, an interview in the Scottish castle had not been the time or the place to wear rebel symbols. She couldn't be seen to promote a cause that she didn't truly understand. Today had been all about positive publicity, and she had no doubt brought the exact opposite to Scotland.

And, even worse, the choice had been taken out of her hands. She had been tricked into wearing something that would antagonise the Scottish people and bring even more negative publicity to the royals. Whether she had been deceived by Narcisse, or a castle guard, or somebody else, Mary wasn't sure. And now _she_ would have to deal with the consequences of today's interview, through no fault of her own.

Mary opened her mouth to say something else to Narcisse, maybe to explain about the guard showing up at the television room just after he had left, or to ask him yet again to promise her that he hadn't played a part in today's debacle, but before she could, the door burst open again.

This time, Francis strode into the room. He took one look at Narcisse, and his expression turned thunderous.

"Leave us!" he demanded, his voice full of anger as he glared at Narcisse. Right now, Mary knew that she was dealing with Francis-the-prince rather than Francis-the-childhood-friend who had promised to help her get through this process.

Narcisse simply shrugged and headed out of the room. Still, he did not look the slightest bit perplexed, and Mary really started to worry that he was enjoying all this drama.

Feeling suddenly irritated at Narcisse's abrupt dimissal from the room, Mary glared at Francis and folded her arms, waiting for him to speak.

Francis's expression changed from a look of anger to one of fear.

"Mary," he said, as he started to pace up and down the room, his hands held out as though in a gesture of surrender, "I'm asking you to _please_ reconsider your decision to use Narcisse as your Publicist."

Francis's voice was shaking, and Mary couldn't tell if he sounded more angry or afraid.

And yet, all she could feel was anger. Anger that Francis believed he had a right to do this-to ask her to dismiss her staff, to question her judgement, and anger at herself for possibly being mistaken in putting her trust in Narcisse in the first place.

"He has done nothing wrong!" Mary insisted, the words leaving her lips before she could think things through. She wanted to believe it; she had to believe it. Otherwise, she would have to face the fact that she had been so easily duped; that she had walked into danger again just like that silly, naive sixteen-year-old girl who had snuck into the French castle.

Francis actually rolled his eyes at Mary's defense of Narcisse, causing Mary's level of anger to increase.

"Mary," he sighed, "even you can't deny that he has placed you in a terrible situation today. I don't know very much about Scottish symbols, but there are already whispers going around that you were wearing a rebel symbol during your interview today. Narcisse allowed you to sit there and to say what you said about helping those who don't support your own family! People were taking photos of you in that room-pictures of you wearing that symbol will already by circulating the Internet. And still he shows no hint of remorse!"

"He has denied all knowledge of it!" Mary protested, feeling another flash of anger. She knew she must sound like a petulant child right now, but she didn't care.

Francis seemed to take a few deep breaths before he spoke again. "Mary, you must at least _suspect_ that Narcisse had something to do with the decision for you to wear that symbol today-"

"He had no idea what the symbol meant!" Mary continued to insist, hoping rather than believing this to be true.

"Mary, he is no friend of yours," Francis responded, a warning tone to his voice now. "He is here in Scotland entirely for his own gain. People much older than you have been fooled by his lies, his deceptions. There are so many other worthy Publicists you could employ, before it's too late. This process will be much easier for you if you dismiss him-"

Mary wasn't sure whether it was anger or fear that was driving her words and her actions right now, but either way, she felt like she was losing control of the situation.

"I am _not_ your subject," Mary told Francis firmly, whose eyes widened in shock at this statement.

She still wasn't sure if she believed Narcisse herself, but she was sick of this; sick of being told what to do by royals like Francis, James, her mother...and by camera crews and Publicity Teams. She was sick of being lied to and deceived. "And _your_ personal grudge against Narcisse has _nothing_ to do with me! Perhaps you are simply jealous of how close he is to Lola!" she couldn't help accusing him, voicing for the first time her deep-rooted anxiety-or maybe it was jealousy-that Francis preferred spending time with Lola to her.

"Mary, this is not about-" Francis started, a bewildered expression on his face, but then he seemed to stop himself. "You know nothing of his history," he finished.

"Regardless of the deal your father has struck up with Scotland, I will _not_ be told what to do by France!" she continued. "And perhaps I would know more about your history with Narcisse if you actually _told_ me, Francis!"

She couldn't hide the hint of sadness in her own voice as she finished her sentence.

_You are keeping secrets from me, too, Francis, just like everybody else!_ she almost added.

Before Francis could say anything else, Mary turned on her heel so that she could storm out of the room.

When she got to the doorway, she turned back and glared at him. "I am only answerable to my own country! To Scotland! Not to France! And," she added, her tone of voice a lot more level now, but no less angry, "you are not to dismiss a member of _my_ staff from a room ever again!"

With that, Mary left the room and slammed the door behind her. She leaned against the closed door for a few seconds, letting out a shout of anger before she sighed and started to move away from the door.

Then, just to make things worse, she walked out into the corridor just in time to see her mother, who had no doubt overheard every word of her argument with Francis. She was leaning against the opposite wall and glaring at her daughter with an expression of pure fury, silently letting Mary know just how badly she had messed things up.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time the day of Greer's wedding arrived, Mary was in little mood to celebrate.

The so-called 'rebel symbol' she seemed to have been tricked into wearing during her interview might have (thankfully) gone largely unnoticed by most members of the general public, and she might have come up with the idea to 'casually' mention in a magazine interview that the pin had been given to her as a gift by a child standing in the crowd on the family's last royal tour abroad, in a country where the symbol no doubt meant something different, in order to try to stop any rumours from spreading, but none of this changed the fact that Mary was currently being treated like a child in disgrace.

The royal family had been unable to fully hush up the whispers going around the country as to why Mary might have chosen to pin that particular symbol to her shirt in the first place, and her mother, already furious with Mary after overhearing her argument with Francis, had also started to suspect that Mary and Narcisse had been in on some kind of scheme to disgrace the royal family together.

It hadn't helped that Mary had been unable to identify the guard who had showed up at the television room door and asked her to wear the pin in the first place-it was almost as though he had vanished from the castle completely, and so the finger of suspicion had instead continued to point at Narcisse.

As a result, Narcisse had been 'temporarily suspended' from his role as Mary's Publicist by Mary's mother, much to Mary's fury.

"You are doing Francis's dirty work for him!" Mary had screamed at her mother when the news was first announced, but all of her protests had fallen on deaf ears.

It wasn't as though Mary was particularly attached to Narcisse as a person after only knowing him for a short time, but she had started to rely on him in his role as her Publicist, and now she was concerned that he had gone for good.

After all of this conflict, the queen had not allowed Mary to take part in any official royal engagements over the past week, aside from a couple of tabloid magazine interviews to 'smooth things over', as it seemed that she no longer trusted her not to do more damage to the royal family's reputation in Scotland.

Filming for the matchmaking show had also been put on hold for a few days, and so Mary had instead spent most of the week meeting with a few staff members to plan the logistics of her trip to Edinburgh to take part in Greer's wedding, while her parents and her brother continued to attend to their royal duties.

To make matters even worse, Francis had suddenly returned to France only a couple of days ago, as apparently some sort of 'urgent royal business' had come up at the French castle, and his presence was required at home.

Deep down, Mary suspected that he had simply used this urgent business as an excuse to leave Scotland, and a part of her feared that he might not return, especially as she and Francis had barely spoken since their argument and after Narcisse's suspension from his job.

As angry as she still felt about everything, already, a feeling of regret was starting to overwhelm her.

However, Mary knew that she had to put on a brave face as she walked down the stone steps outside the castle and towards the cars parked on the driveway that would take them all to the wedding, as several photographers were waiting outside the castle to take pictures.

Her long, black skirt trailed over the ground as she slowly descended the steps, trying her best to keep her head held high, and trying not to let her troubled thoughts reflect on her face.

It was still early in the morning, and the air was damp and misty, adding to a general sense of gloom in the atmosphere.

Mary wanted to be optimistic, she really did-Greer was one of her closest friends, and today would be the happiest day of Greer's life, and Mary felt so honoured to be her bridesmaid, but in spite of all that, she felt like the cold, misty weather was more reflective of her mood right now.

She was grateful to arrive at the waiting car, where she was hoping to hide away for a couple of hours and not have to face photographers or journalists for a little while.

A few members of staff were waiting around the driveway, ready to offer assistance to the royal family if it was required. Mary noticed Bash, who was waiting by the car that she would be travelling in. As she took a step closer to the car door, Bash reached out a hand to help her into the car, and Mary took it, managing to smile back at him when he grinned at her. They hadn't talked much since he had revealed to her the meaning behind the symbol she was wearing after her interview, but still, Mary was happy to see a friendly face.

Mary would be travelling to Edinburgh with Lola today, and when she finally got in the car and took her seat, Lola was already sitting down with her seatbelt fastened, watching Mary with what looked like a suspicious expression.

"Be careful with Bash, Mary," Lola told her in a warning tone of voice, the second the car door was closed, "he has feelings for you..."

For a moment, Mary felt confused as to what Lola was trying to say, but then she couldn't help feeling a little annoyed that Lola had felt it was necessary to warn her about Bash like that, and she had to try her best not to frown at her.

Still, she really didn't want to get into an argument with Lola at the moment, not when she was already feeling so angry with everybody else. The two of them had developed a sort of friendship in the short time that Lola had been working at the castle, and they had even watched a couple of episodes of the matchmaking show together in the television room.

The first episode of the show had focused on the opening ceremony and the ball, with a few interviews given by Mary's parents thrown in, and the second episode had focused on Mary and Francis's walk in the grounds, as well as Kenna's visit to the castle. From what Mary's Publicity Team had told her, the viewing figures were fairly steady, and viewers were definitely intrigued by the prospect of a romance between Francis and Mary, but Mary had a feeling that they would have to do more soon to really engage the viewers-if the show was going to continue at all, that is.

Mary had felt relieved when it was first decided that she could travel to Edinburgh in the car with Lola, as she hadn't really wanted to travel with her parents or her brother and face long lectures from any of them, but now it seemed like Lola was speaking to her in the same way that her mother always spoke to her.

Instead of responding to what Lola had just said, Mary simply shrugged and took out her phone as the car started moving.

Several cars were following behind them, as Mary's parents and Kenna and James would also be attending the wedding, along with several members of staff of James's choosing, like Lola, who would be able to assist them at the event.

Deciding not to think about everything else that was going on around her at the moment, Mary scrolled through a couple of social media sites, trying to discover for herself what the public reactions were to the first couple of episodes of the show.

The photo of Francis and Mary walking into the ballroom hand-in-hand had definitely been a popular one, and many fans of the show had shared it on their pages.

Another image that had proved to be popular was the one of Francis holding on to Mary and helping her up after she fell during their walk in the grounds. The photographers seemed to have captured the moment from a perfect angle, with the two of them looking into each other's eyes, and even Mary had to admit that the picture on its own, with no context provided, looked rather romantic.

In general, it looked like most young fans of the show were supportive of the matchmaking process, and they seemed to think that Mary and Francis would make a good couple. Again, Mary couldn't help feeling nervous that their hopes might be dashed now that Francis had returned to France.

Mary focused on a few more of the pictures that had been widely shared on social media pages, including a few photographs of Mary and Francis standing on the castle steps while they waited for Kenna to arrive.

 _The way he looks at her!_ one fan of the show had written about Francis in the comments section of one of the photographs that depicted Francis glancing over at Mary from where he had stood on the steps.

Mary felt a strange rush of emotion as she read the comment and looked at the picture. Suddenly, she could no longer stand to look at pictures and comments anymore. Hurriedly, she turned off her phone, and leaned her head against the window.

* * *

Mary realised that she must have dozed off at some point during the journey, because it seemed like one moment she was gazing out of the car window at the Scottish countryside, and the next, she was opening her eyes to find herself in the city of Edinburgh.

As the car headed in the direction of the hotel where Greer and Mary would be getting ready for the wedding ceremony, Mary only half-listened to Lola as she talked about the wedding and speculated as to which guests would be attending. From the glum expression on Lola's face however, and the ocassional sigh, Mary suspected that she wished that Narcisse would be attending.

Eventually, they arrived at the hotel. Mary was led away by several members of the security team towards the private suite where the bridal party was getting ready.

When Mary opened the door to the suite, Greer was standing in the middle of the room wearing a long, silk robe, her hair already styled and a contented smile on her face.

"Mary," said Greer, her tone of voice affectionate as she smiled and waved in Mary's direction.

"Oh, Greer," said Mary, as she smiled back at her.

She practically ran towards her best friend, and the two of them hugged. It had been so long since they had last seen each other, and Mary felt an overwhelming sense of relief to see her old friend again; a sense of relief at getting to see a familiar face-somebody who had known her for a long time-especially when it felt like so much had changed over the past few weeks. She realised just how much she had missed her.

A part of her longed for her school days in London, back when she and Greer had spent their days together; back when they would giggle at Kenna's 'ridiculous' schemes to marry a prince; back when Mary would secretly follow Francis around London, trying to work out where he was going.

The two of them didn't have too long to catch up, as Mary was rushed over towards the hair and makeup team while Greer went to put on her wedding dress, and then Mary was led over towards another team of stylists so that they could help her change into her bridesmaid's dress.

Finally, Mary stood next to Greer in front of a full-length mirror that had been set up in the room, the two of them admiring their dresses.

Of course, Mary loved her black silk, off-the-shoulder bridesmaid dress, but it was Greer's dress that really stood out. Greer's cream-coloured wedding dress was beautiful, with its ballgown style and its intricate details.

Mary had never really thought too much about weddings and wedding dresses before, but she couldn't help gazing admiringly at Greer's dress.

When Greer caught her eye in the mirror and smiled at her, Mary couldn't resist asking her something that she had been thinking about for a little while: "How did you know that Aloysius was the man you wanted to marry? How did you know that he was The One?"

Mary thought it would perhaps be in bad taste to mention Greer's past relationship with Leith on her wedding day, but she could tell from the look on Greer's face that Greer had guessed what Mary was trying to ask-how, after her years with Leith, had Greer come to decide that Lord Castleroy was the man she loved, and so quickly as well?

"I'll always have happy memories of my time with Leith, Mary," Greer replied, looking thoughtful. "But people change; as we grow up, we find we have different dreams, and goals. Sometimes, when we get older, we realise that the boys we had crushes on as schoolgirls do not turn out to be the same men we love when we are women."

Before Mary could say anything in response, they were both called away from the mirror by the Events Team. It seemed that the cars had arrived to take the bridal party to Edinburgh Cathedral, where the ceremony would be taking place.

Mary headed out of the hotel, lost in thought about what Greer had just said.

* * *

The area outside the cathedral might have been packed full of photographers and well-wishers, all of them eager to catch a glimpse of the rather famous groom, and the Scottish royal family as they all arrived at the ceremony, but it was easy for Mary to forget about all of that once they were inside.

The beautifully decorated interior of the cathedral would have been breathtaking in itself, with it high, domed ceiling, its pillars, and its stained glass windows and brightly-coloured murals, but it was the happy atmosphere that truly made the place seem beautiful.

Lord Castleroy beamed as Greer walked down the aisle towards him, looking like the happiest man on Earth.

Greer looked equally happy as she smiled at her soon-to-be husband.

The children all looked adorable in their outfits, dressed up as paigeboys and flowergirls. Many of the guests smiled happily at them as they walked down the aisle.

The wedding vows were heartfelt and emotional, and all the guests cheered loudly when Greer and Aloysius were finally announced as husband and wife.

Even Mary couldn't help being influenced by the happy mood, in spite of everything else that was going on in her life at the moment. She smiled happily as she walked down the aisle as Greer's bridesmaid, and then she felt a little emotional when the bride and groom kissed at the end of the ceremony to another enthusiastic round of applause.

It was easy to get lost in the moment, and to forget about royalty or politics or television shows for a little while.

* * *

It was only when Mary was back outside, standing on the Cathedral stairs while Greer and her husband posed for a few photographs with the children, that she fully became aware of her surroundings again.

She looked around at the other guests, including her mother, who was in conversation with Lola, and James, who was posing for photographs with members of the public who had showed up outside the Cathedral. A few of the castle's guards stood close to James as he interacted with the people in the crowd.

Mary hung back, making sure to stay away from the crowds. She was not sure how she would be treated by the public, now that a few rumours were probably going around that she had worn a rebel symbol during her most recent interview, and she wasn't eager to find out if they would be friendly to her or not.

As she posed for a photograph with the bride and groom, Mary noticed that Kenna and Lola were now giggling and whispering together. Mary let out a resigned sigh. Of course the two of them would get along.

Suddenly, Mary blinked a few times in shock when she saw Bash, standing a few feet away from her, in conversation with a few other members of staff. She hadn't expeted to see him here-as far as she'd known, Bash had not been invited by James to attend the wedding.

Suddenly, Kenna walked past her, the skirts of her designer gown flowing behind her as she waved and smiled at a few people in the crowd a few feet away.

"What's Sebastian doing here?" Mary couldn't help asking her, keeping her voice low.

"Oh, didn't you hear?" said Kenna as a not-so-innocent grin crept to her face. "James put _me_ in charge of the staff invites for the wedding, and I decided that after all the good work Bash has been doing at the castle, he would be an _invaluable_ assistant to the royal family today!"

"Really?" Mary asked Kenna, unable to keep the tone of suspicion out of her voice as she folded her arms and glared at Kenna. "That's the _only_ reason you invited him?"

Kenna simply raised an eyebrow and then shrugged at her in response, looking like she was trying not to laugh.

Mary didn't have time to ask Kenna anything else, because the wedding photographers had finally finished taking their photos, and they were all ushered back to their cars so that they could travel to the wedding reception.

* * *

The venue where the wedding reception was taking place was just as beautiful as the cathedral, with its ballroom style main room, high ceilings, chandeliers and polished wooden floors, and of course the formally decorated tables.

Mary sat at the head table with the bride, groom and best man, while James, Kenna and Mary's parents were seated at a round table close by, and Bash and Lola sat at another table just behind them with a few of the guards. Every now and again, Kenna turned around in her seat so that she could talk to Lola.

Mary blinked back tears as all the emotional speeches were given, with all of the speakers talking about how Greer and Aloysius first met, and how their relationship had developed, and then she shared a few laughs with Greer about their school days while they all ate the delicious food. For a little while, Mary could almost imagine that she and Greer were back at school together, back before people like Bash, and Kenna, and Lola, and Narcisse had become a significant part of her life-things had been simpler back then, although Mary hadn't realised it at the time.

As she finished her dessert, Mary couldn't help letting out a sad sigh, as she couldn't help thinking about Francis again, and how he had gone back to France, and how she wasn't sure if he would return to Scotland, after everything that had happened. She knew that she shouldn't care so much, but she really did.

Greer caught her eye, a look of concern in her expression, as though she could sense that Mary was upset about something. Quickly, Mary smiled back at her friend-she didn't want anything to spoil Greer's day.

Soon, all the guests had finished eating, and the tables were cleared, and the evening guests started to arrive.

As the lights dimmed, Greer and Aloysius walked hand-in-hand to the middle of the dance floor so that they could share their first dance as a married couple.

The moment was made even more adorable when the children ran into the middle of the dance floor, joining in with the dance.

As Mary watched the happy family dancing together, again her thoughts drifted to Francis. She wondered if he would have asked her to dance, if he had been at the ceremony today.

As a few other couples joined the newlyweds on the dance floor, Mary stood back and observed as her parents danced together, still looking deeply in love with one another in spite of all their years together and all the trials and tribulations that came with ruling a country. Sometimes, in the midst of all the problems that they had to face on a daily basis, Mary forgot just how strong the bond between her parents was.

James and Kenna also danced together, although they didn't seem to be as connected as Mary and James's parents were. Kenna didn't seem to care though-she simply smiled as she took in the admiring (and perhaps also a little envious) glances of other young women in the room.

Finally, the music became more upbeat, and larger groups of guests started to head towards the dance floor. Mary's brother walked towards her and held a hand out to her, inviting her to dance, and the two of them headed towards the dance floor. Mary couldn't help smiling as she danced with James, while Lola and Kenna danced close by. As the music played, it was almost like the two of them were children again, dancing around the castle without a care in the world. It was so rare to see James looking so happy and so carefree.

Of course, the moment couldn't last. Soon, James was asked to dance by other women in the room, all of them no doubt keen to say that they had danced with a future king. With an apologetic-looking shrug, James went off to do his duty.

For a little while, Mary went to dance with Bash, who seemed to be just as surprised as she was by his last-minute invitation to the wedding. Mary simply smiled along with him, trying to ignore the fact that Kenna seemed to be watching the two of them out of the corner of her eye.

Like James, Bash also seemed to have a group of women who were waiting to dance with him, and so Mary stepped aside and eventually ended up dancing with Lola and Kenna. They were soon joined by Greer, who seemed happy to join a group of girls and indulge in a few less-than-elegant dance moves.

Mary realised how rare an event this was, to be dancing with a group of girls at a party, almost like they were all friends who had known each other for years. Kenna in particular looked thrilled by it all, and Mary couldn't help but wonder if Kenna had many female friends to go to parties with. She also wondered what it would be like to do things like this all the time-to go to parties with Lola and Kenna and Greer; for all of them to just be normal young girls sometimes.

Mary was just getting into the moment, laughing with the others as she started to dance like nobody was watching, when Lola suddenly froze in the middle of the dance floor, her eyes wide as she looked in the direction of the main doors.

"Narcisse!" she called out, not bothering to keep her voice down, her tone a mixture of surprise and happiness.

Quickly, Mary turned to look in the direction of the room's entrance. Sure enough, Narcisse was standing right in the doorway with a smirk on his face, looking like he belonged there.

Mary's eyes widened in shock. How was this possible? Why was he here, at the wedding, when he had been suspended from work?

She was just about to say something when Lola smiled and started running across the room towards him, abandoning all protocol while most of the wedding guests stared at her. "Narcisse!" she called out again as she threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, apparently thrilled to see him.

A few murmurs of disapproval about Lola's behaviour started to echo around the room, but Lola and Narcisse didn't seem to care. If anything, Narcisse seemed to be enjoying the fact that he had made such a notable entrance.

Feeling very confused, and overcome with curiosity as to why Narcisse had just walked through the door, Mary walked towards him, her steps a little slower and more dignified as Kenna fell into step behind her.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Mary heard Lola ask Narcisse as she approached.

"Well," said Narcisse, with a would-be-casual shrug, "it turns out that my presence was required by the royal family after all." He smirked before he continued: "I received a call earlier this afternoon to offer me my job back, with a suggestion that I could perhaps make myself useful as an evening guest at the wedding, in my role as Publicist, of course-if the princess will have me back as her employee, that is..." he added hurriedly with a glance at Mary, as though only just remembering that Mary would have some say in all this.

Mary had no choice but to nod along in agreement-Lola was looking at her as though her future happiness depended upon Mary's decision.

Going by the way that Lola had her arm draped over Narcisse's shoulder, and the way he was holding her in return, in was obvious now that something was going on between the two of them-perhaps they had already shared a few secret kisses in hidden parts of the castle.

All this time, Mary had worried that Lola had a crush on Francis, when really, it was apparently Narcisse who she had feelings for.

After the others had looked away from her, Mary continued to stare at Narcisse, still feeling shocked. She wasn't exactly sure how this had happened. Her parents hadn't said anything about reinstating Narcisse and inviting him to the wedding-it didn't seem like something her parents would have encouraged, especially after all the recent controversy that they believed Narcisse had caused. She also highly doubted that James would have gone behind their backs to make a decision like this.

A thought suddenly occured to her: "Did _you_ have any part to play in this?" she asked Kenna in a whisper as she glared at her suspiciously.

Kenna had been put in charge of most of the wedding invites for the castle's staff, after all. She had already been sneaky in asking Bash, and if Lola had confided in Kenna that she had feelings for Narcisse, well, Mary wouldn't put it past Kenna to pull a few strings to help her new friend out.

However, Kenna shrugged and shook her head in response. Mary could tell from the expression on her face that Kenna had had nothing to do with this-she seemed just as surprised as Mary and Lola were.

"Narcisse! Dance with me!" Lola inisted with a grin before Mary could ask him anything. Lola grabbed hold of his hand and started to tug him towards the dance floor, and Narcisse went willingly.

Mary watched them go. She wasn't sure how she felt about Narcisse's return. On the one hand, she was glad at the prospect of putting an end to some of her recent conflict with her family now that they had apparently allowed her old Publicist to return, but on the other hand, she still wasn't sure if she trusted Narcisse. Something about him made her feel a little wary, and a part of her worried that Francis was right about him. She couldn't help thinking about Catherine's words to her son: _"Narcisse must_ really _despise her..."_ Was Narcisse really working for her, or against her? Mary still wasn't sure.

In the moments that Mary had stood still and watched Lola and Narcisse, lost in thought, Kenna had run over towards Bash. Mary watched in surprise as she eagerly asked him to dance, and Bash nodded.

She was distracted when James appeared at her side. "Let's go and get a drink," he mumbled to her. He sounded relaxed, casual almost, but Mary could tell from the serious, uneasy expression on his face that her older brother had something he wanted to tell her.

Mary fell into step next to him, trying to appear just as casual as James requested glasses of water for the two of them, before they moved away from the crowd.

They found a table in the far corner of the room, as far away as possible from potential eavesdroppers.

James seemed to fidget in his seat, apparently reluctant to start this conversation.

"You're not going to tell me it was _you_ who gave Narcisse his job back, are you? Mary asked him with a raised eyebrow, pretending to watch him suspiciously.

James shook his head, managing a grin of his own. "No," he told her. "You might be surprised to hear this, but the Scottish royal family played no part in this. It seems it was the French royal family who were responsible for his return."

Mary almost knocked over her drink in her shock. "But...why would they do that?" she asked James with a frown. "They despise Narcisse-his sacking would have played right into their hands."

"That may be the case," James shrugged, "but it seems that one member of the family in particular insisted that the show might be in jeopardy if you no longer had your Publicist by your side." He raised his eyebrows significantly at Mary before he continued in a whisper. "Apparently, there were fears you would drop out of the show completely if Narcisse was no longer there to help you. And, well, the other French royals wouldn't risk it-they won't be humiliated on television, not now that they're so far into this. And so the call came into our offices from France this morning, 'advising' us to 'reconsider' his suspension from work. Mother was too worried about a diplomatic incident to say no to them..."

Mary felt like her head was spinning with all this new information. There were so many questions she wanted to ask her brother, but before she could put anything into words, a group of Scottish politicians approached the table, inviting James to come and "talk business" with them. James gave Mary an apologetic look before he left the table.

Mary was left alone, lost in her thoughts. Why had the French royal family insisted on giving Narcisse his job back?

A few of James's words played over in her head: "... _it seems that one member of the family in particular_..."

Had _Francis_ been behind Narcisse's return? Was it even possible? Why would he do that?

Another thought occured to her, one that seemed even more impossible: Was this some kind of peace offering on Francis's part? Was he trying to make amends? Or was this simply wishful thinking on her part?

Unsure what to think, Mary watched the guests who were dancing. Lola and Narcisse were slow-dancing together, in spite of the fast music, their arms wrapped around one another, looking like they were lost in their own little world.

Greer and Aloysius were also dancing together, huge smiles on their faces as the children danced close by.

Bash and Kenna were still dancing together, to Mary's surprise. The two of them laughed at each other as they induldged in a few comedy dance moves that Mary had always imagined Kenna would think of as being beneath her.

Mary was used to Bash's constant smirks, but something about the smile on his face as he danced with Kenna seemed so much more...genuine. His laughter seemed real, this time. It was obvious that he was really enjoying himself. And Kenna, who Mary had always thought was a little stuck up, seemed to be having no trouble letting her hair down at the moment.

Then there was James, who continued to walk around the room, sharing formal conversations with millionaires and politicians, looking every inch the future king and apparently oblivious to the fact that his future wife was dancing close to Bash, only a few feet away from him.

They all seemed so...comfortable. Like they all knew who they were and what they were supposed to be doing.

More than ever, Mary felt like an outsider, watching them all from a great distance. She felt like an outsider even in her own country, alone and observing everybody else as though from afar.

The room felt too hot, too enclosed. The table in the far corner in the room wasn't far away enough. She needed some fresh air; she had to move; she needed to get out, if only for a little while.

* * *

Trying to be as discreet as possible, Mary got up from her seat and slipped out of the room through a side door.

She walked aimlessly through the corridors of the building for a little while, darting around a few corners to hide whenever she heard the sound of footsteps, before heading outside through one of the exit doors.

The night air felt cold and sharp when she stepped outside, and Mary couldn't help shivering.

At the sound of more footsteps, Mary hurriedly closed the exit door and ran further down a narrow alleyway that seemed to be located around the back of the building.

Feeling a little out of breath, she leaned back against the nearest wall, looking up at the sky as she tried to calm her thoughts and control her breathing.

"Mary?"

At the sound of the voice, Mary turned her head to look towards the door.

Bash had just stepped outside, a look of concern on his face.

Mary almost wasn't surprised that he had followed her-he must have seen her slip out of the room, somehow; he must have been curious about where she was going.

 _We are so alike, in some ways..._ Mary thought to herself as she watched Bash approach her. _We both know how to sneak around and keep secrets._

"Mary?" Bash repeated as he got closer to her.

Mary realised that she still hadn't offered him any sort of response, and he was clearly worried about her.

"Are you all right?" Bash asked her, as he took another step closer to her.

Mary took another step closer to him, allowed him to place a hand on her arm.

She could kiss him. Take that last step and close the gap between them. Do something to shock everybody; to get back at them all for the situation they had placed her in; to let them know that she was more than the person they expected her to be; to show them all that she would not just blindly follow royal orders-her parents, her brother, the camera crew, her Publicity Team; to let Francis know that she wasn't falling apart, just because he had left...

It would be so easy. Bash was handome-all the other girls thought so, and even Kenna seemed to be taken with him. And Lola had already told her that Bash had feelings for her. He would have been just her type, back at school, when she was a little younger. He would kiss her back. Perhaps it would help to ease some of the hurt and the confusion that she had felt over the past couple of weeks...

As though coming out of a daze, Mary suddenly took a step back. No. She couldn't do it. It wouldn't be right. Greer's words about teenage crushes and Lola's warning about not toying with Bash's feelings seemed more significant now, in this moment. It would not be fair to start something with Bash when her mind was so full of thoughts about _Francis_. She wasn't even sure how exactly she felt about him yet, and she was still so angry with him after their argument, but still, he seemed to have played a starring role in her thoughts and her dreams ever since he had re-entered her life.

She knew that she had to work out her feelings for Francis before she allowed anyone else to interfere with this royal matchmaking process.

"I'm fine," Mary insisted as she looked Bash in the eye and tried to look calm and composed. "I just needed a little fresh air, that's all."

Bash nodded, and a more guarded expression slowly appeared on his face, too.

From the day she'd met him, a part of Mary had hoped, rather than truly believed, that being with somebody like Bash would be easy, straightforward-a lot less complicated than dating a prince. But deep down, Mary knew that this wasn't the case-she thought about how Bash had mysteriously appeared in her local village, and at the castle, at the ideal time-just when the matchmaking show was getting started. She thought about how skilled he was at sneaking around, staying hidden, climbing castle walls and attending secret meetings. She thought about how he'd recognised the rebel symbol that she'd worn right away-how he'd looked so worried about the repercussions of her actions.

Bash had something to hide; he had secrets of his own. Mary wasn't yet sure what they were exactly, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that kissing Bash would bring about just as many complications as kissing Francis would. _Every_ man would bring complications to her life, and she would bring them to theirs. Perhaps it was simply a matter of deciding who would be worth overcoming the complications for.

She had just reassured Bash yet again that she was fine when the exit door suddenly burst open. Kenna stepped outside, her movements almost giddy-looking as a smile crept to her face.

"Bash? Will you not dance with me again?" she asked, apparently not noticing just yet that Mary was also standing outside with Bash.

Kenna's words reminded Mary of Olivia, standing on the grand staircase inside the French castle two years ago as she spoke to Francis.

Mary felt a familiar rush of irritation, only this time, it was not directed at Kenna.

She was jealous of Olivia. She just hadn't realised it, until now; she hadn't understood why it always upset her so much whenever Francis mentioned her name.

But then, if she was jealous of Olivia, did that mean that _she_ wanted to be Francis's girlfriend? Mary frowned and shook her head. Everything was so confusing. If only she had thought about all this before Francis returned to France.

It didn't take long before Kenna realised that Mary was also outside, still standing quite close to Bash. Her smile seemed to freeze on her face; she stopped in the doorway and looked from one to the other, her expression almost suspicious, and maybe even a little hurt.

"Oh," Kenna mumbled, as she aimed a glare in Mary's direction, "it's you."

Bash looked at Mary almost questioningly, as though checking that she was definitely okay, and silently asking her permission to go and rejoin the party.

"Go and dance," Mary told him, attempting to smile and look relaxed. "I'm fine. I'll be back inside in a minute."

With a final reassuring pat on her shoulder, Bash walked back through the exit door.

Kenna, however, did not move. She continued to stand in the doorway with her arms folded.

"You are on a matchmaking show with the future king of France," she muttered, her tone of voice surprisingly firm. Clearly she wasn't happy about the fact that Mary had been hanging around with Bash outside, away from the party.

"And you are engaged to the future king of Scotland!" Mary snapped back at her. She would not take this from Kenna, not when Kenna had no right whatsoever to be posessive over Bash.

"You will fit right in with the French royal family," Kenna told her, cryptically, with a raised eyebrow, before she turned around and headed back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Mary glared at the closed door for a few seconds before she let out a sigh of frustration. Then, she turned and started to head in the opposite direction, deciding that she would take a quick walk on her own before she went back inside.

She had only taken a few steps when somebody jumped out in front of her in the darkness, blocking her path.

Letting out a gasp of fright, Mary quickly turned around, as though to run away in the opposite direction, but the person was too quick for her. They moved to stand in front of her, and then a fist slammed into the wall only inches from her face.

The figure was tall, menacing, dressed all in black, and they seemed to be wearing some sort of balaclava, as Mary couldn't make out their face.

Mary remained rooted to the spot, frozen in her terror, barely able to catch her breath, let alone let out a scream. There were no guards around, no one she could call out to...

"You are being watched," the person muttered slowly in a deep voice, their words no less threatening than if they'd been spoken as a loud shout or an angry cry. "Be _very_ careful about your next move..."

With that, the figure quickly moved away from her and vanished into the night.

* * *

Francis Valois paced up and down the ramparts of the Scottish castle, his phone held to his ear.

His mother spoke to him on the phone, updating him on everything that had gone on in the French castle in the hours since he had left and returned to Scotland. Francis replied to her politely in a mix of French and Italian-a precaution in case anybody was eavesdropping-but really, he was only half-listening to what she was saying.

He felt a little guilty for not paying much attention to the conversation, especially in light of recent circumstances. Nobody in the Scottish castle knew it yet, but Francis had been called back home to France because his father's health had deteriorated in recent weeks. There had been genuine fears among the French royals that he wouldn't make it through.

Francis stopped his pacing for a moment as he took a few deep breaths. His father might have recovered, this time, but still, Francis couldn't help feeling uneasy when he thought about how close he had come to being declared the King of France almost overnight.

Everything else seemed to have fallen apart over the past few weeks, and he and Mary had barely spoken recently, and to add to all the chaos and confusion, he had almost faced the loss of a parent, along with a new role that he still felt nowhere near prepared for.

He had avoided being declared king, for now, but he had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before his life would change.

Francis let out a sigh as he stared out at the horizon. He wondered if Mary had returned from the wedding in Edinburgh yet.

In other circumstances, he would have stayed home in France for a little while longer, just to make sure that everything was definitely okay, but he had returned for her, and in the hope that maybe there was some chance he could make up for all of their recent disagreements.

In spite of everything, he wanted to try to work things out between the two of them. He just wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. He had always felt so clueless whenever he was around her. He could only hope that his most recent decision had been a step in the right direction and not a huge mistake...

He had asked Narcisse to return to his role as Mary's Publicist against his better judgement. His opinion of him hadn't changed, and he would continue to mistrust him, but he had sent Narcisse to Edinburgh as a peace offering, in the hope that the gesture might help a little to smooth things over between the two of them.

Already, he had seen how Mary was starting to rely on Narcisse, and how she really believed that he was helping her to get through the television show. He'd also had a feeling that their recent argument would never be resolved if Mary believed that Francis had in any way played a part in the dismissal of a member of staff she considered to be _her_ employee. She would no doubt worry that this would set a precedent for any future they had together. He could tell that she would never have chosen to date a prince if the decision had been left to her, and a prince who attempted to influence her decisions would definitely be dismissed from the matchmaking process.

As much as the idea filled him with dread, he knew that he would have to trust Mary to make her own decisions about Narcisse. If not, Narcisse would continue to get between them.

Francis's mother continued to talk to him on the phone, but Francis was barely listening. He was too lost in his own worries.

Recent events had served as a painful reminder to him that he would have to be more honest with Mary about the situation in France-namely the reality of the role as queen that awaited her if she chose to continue with the matchmaking process.

Already, Mary had no doubt seen for herself over the past few days that Francis's royal duties often got in the way of other things. He had not been able to attend the wedding of one of Mary's closest friends, and things like this would happen over and over again in the future, even if they were married. He would not always be able to be by her side, in the way that other men would be able to be. Mary herself would have to miss out on important events sometimes, when duty required it, if she chose to take on the role as queen. Would she ever accept that kind of lifestyle?

Then there were all the other things he would have to be honest about-perhaps most importantly, the reason why Francis's father had put him forward for the matchmaking show in the first place. Francis couldn't help feeling that now-familiar feeling of dread when he thought about all the secrets his father knew about the Scottish royals-all the potential the French royal family held for blackmail and manipulation. They were the main reasons why Francis had been so reluctant to participate in the show in the first place; why a part of him wanted to run, to do whatever he could to protect Mary.

He was also certain that it was only a matter of time before she asked him directly about his history with Narcisse, and he would have to tell her.

There were so many secrets he didn't want to share, but, if he continued to push her away, if he told the French royals he wouldn't be a part of this process, he would lose her. There would be others waiting to date her, if and when the matchmaking process fell apart. He had already seen for himself how Sebastian felt about her, and recently, he'd also heard rumours that other men-royals and politicians and celebrities-had taken an interest in Mary since she'd stared to appear on television every week.

As though she could read his thoughts, Francis's mother suddenly muttered over the phone, "You know that Conde's been sniffing around in France, trying to find out how well the show's _really_ playing out. It seems he's taken an interest in meeting Mary..."

Again, Francis sighed. There were so many obstacles and people working against them, so many ways they could be driven apart...

Suddenly, he was distracted by the sight of Mary, who seemed to appear almost out of nowhere on the castle roof.

Her movements looked frantic, and she seemed to be struggling to catch her breath as she ran.

Apparently oblivious to his presence on the roof, she stopped and leaned against one of the stone walls that overlooked the gardens, and then, to Francis's surprise, she burst into tears. He could hear her sobbing from where he was standing only a few feet away.

"I have to go," he muttered quickly to his mother, hanging up his phone before he could even think about what he was going to do next.

Automatically, he started to move towards her, feeling overwhelmed with worry, all of his own misgivings about the matchmaking process suddenly forgotten in light of Mary's distress. He didn't know what was wrong, or if anything bad had happened, but he wanted to do anything he could to help.

He couldn't help it-no matter what, he would always run to her; he would do anything to help her-and that was the very reason why his father had attempted to take control of this process in the first place...


	11. Chapter 11

The morning after Greer's wedding, Mary practically ran through the corridors of the Scottish castle, taking short, sharp breaths as she turned corner after corner and slammed doors behind her.

She could barely think right now, and she was sure her hands were shaking (out of fear or anger, she wasn't exactly sure), but still a part of her was strangely focused; right now, she only had one objective in mind, and she knew exactly where she needed to go to ensure her plan was enforced. All other rational thought had been abandoned in light of recent circumstances-it was as though her mind wouldn't allow her to concentrate on anything else, apart from her one goal to put all of this chaos and confusion to an end.

She knew that she couldn't stop, couldn't allow herself to get distracted; if she did, then the images of a menacing figure wearing a balaclava would appear in her mind again, and she would see them jumping out at her in the darkness; she would hear that cold voice, warning her...

Shaking her head as though to clear it of these dark thoughts, Mary kept moving.

Finally, she arrived at her mother's office. Mary had hoped to speak to her mother after the wedding in Edinburgh, but the guards had informed her that her mother had returned to the castle to prepare for a meeting early in the morning. And so Mary had decided to follow her back here, ordering the castle's staff to prepare a car for her to return to the castle herself.

Abandoning all protocol, Mary grabbed hold of the door handle and pulled it down, hard, forcing the door open.

The door practically fell off its hinges as Mary stormed over the threshold and marched inside, only to be greeted by the bewildered stare of her mother, who was sitting behind her desk, a pile of paperwork stacked in front of her, all-business as usual.

With a disapproving glance at her daughter, Mary's mother opened her mouth, no doubt to tell her off for not knocking before entering the room, but Mary was too quick for her...

"Call off this matchmaking process!" Mary demanded of her mother, her voice somehow sounding both shaky and furious at the same time.

"Excuse me?" the queen asked her, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows, an expression of disbelief on her face. It seemed that she was more distressed by the interruption than Mary's obvious state of distress.

"You must end this show, now!" Mary continued to insist.

She knew that she wasn't thinking or acting rationally right now, but she didn't care. Last night's threat had completely unnerved her. She had been playing the words of the mystery attacker over and over in her mind all night...

_"You are being watched...be very careful about your next move..."_

She didn't want to be watched, to be seen, to be noticed. She just wanted to hide, to get away from all of this, and the only way to do that was to avoid being seen on every television screen in the country almost every day. This was her only chance at escape.

"Whatever's the matter with you?" the queen asked, a hint of agitation in her voice, apparently not taking Mary's demand to call off the matchmaking process seriously.

"I was threatened," said Mary, reluctantly, as she was finally forced to fully re-live yesterday's events out loud. "Last night, at the wedding..." She had to pause to take a few deep breaths, to try to collect herself. "I went outside, alone, just for a moment, and there was somebody out there-"

"I have told you, over and over, that you are _not_ to wander off on your own without the castle guards!" her mother snapped at her, her face now a reflection of the mingled anger and fear that Mary was sure she was displaying in her own expression.

"That is not the point!" Mary argued back with her, feeling a fresh wave of fury, although she suspected that this probably was at least part of the point. Even now, she was thinking about how reckless she had been, heading outside on her own at night, especially given the fact that she was a member of the royal family, and the fact that they received weekly threats from rebels and anti-royalists.

"The point is," Mary continued, before her mother could take over the argument, "I was told I was being watched; I was told to be careful! It was a warning! You have made us all more visible than necessary with the television show, and now those who despise us are fighting back! This show is not bringing any peace to Scotland! You are bringing more threats to our doorstep! More rebels, more spies..."

Mary knew that she probably sounded paranoid, but she really felt deep down that all of this was true-right from the first day of the matchmaking show she'd had a strange feeling that she was being watched, and the words from the person who had vanished into the night yesterday had only confirmed this to her. "I've suspected for weeks that we were being watched. All over the castle I hear whispers, and footsteps, as though people are here, hiding, spying on us..."

"Nonsense!" her mother retorted, making Mary feel even more as though all of these threats were merely a figment of her imagination. "You are tired, and you have been under a lot of pressure recently. You are simply seeing things that are not really there..."

"You are not listening to me!" Mary screamed. "You _never_ listen to me!"

And then, in her anger, Mary picked up a few of the folders from her mother's desk and threw them across the room with another scream of anger. She knew she looked like a spoilt child having a tantrum, but she couldn't control herself right now-she was so scared, and angry, and ashamed, and nobody was listening; nobody was taking her seriously.

"All you care about is your throne!"

She kicked a few of the folders and piles of paperwork that had fallen to the floor in her outburst. She wanted to continue to yell and scream and destroy things. She wanted to let out all her anger-anger at her mother, her father, her brother, the royal family, Francis's parents, the matchmaking show, the situations she had been placed in, the way her mother never seemed to care.

To her surprise, her mother did not get angry in return, or shout at her. She simply sat back in her seat, watching Mary with a contemplative expression on her face.

"Call off the show!" Mary repeated, almost wanting, or needing, a stronger reaction from her mother in light of everything she was saying. It would be easier, in a way, if her mother would get angry in return, if she would fight back. "None of this would have happened if my face hadn't started to appear on every television screen in Scotland and all over the magazines! You are making all of us a target for rebels!"

"Mary," her mother said with a sigh, apparently choosing to ignore Mary's demands, "I'm going to need you to continue with the matchmaking show." There was almost a look of resignation on the queen's face, which only caused Mary's anger to increase.

She struggled not to let out another cry of anger or to ask her mother why she wasn't paying attention to her.

" _Why_?" she demanded instead with a frown. She resisted the urge to start screaming again at the idea that her mother was closing off yet another escape route.

She still felt furious, but now she couldn't help feeling like something was not quite right-there was something suspicious about the look her mother was giving her. " _Why_ is it so important to you that I remain on the show? Is a reality television show _truly_ more important to you than your daughter's safety?"

Her mother remained silent for what felt like too long before she spoke.

Finally, with another sigh, she said, "I'm sick again, Mary."

Mary felt like she had frozen to the spot. She stood still, shocked, staring at her mother, trying to work out what she was actually telling her. She had not anticipated a response like that.

"W-what do you mean?" she asked, a strange sense of foreboding already starting to overtake her.

"It is the same as last time, Mary," her mother told her, her voice sounding surprisingly level. "The same sickness, the same threat..."

"B-but, the doctors will cure you, just like last time. We are royalty-we have some of the best doctors in the world-"

She knew how awful this would sound, how selfish, but in the moment, it didn't matter. For as much as she had despised certain aspects of life as a royal, she had always assumed that one of the privileges of the role involved access to the best doctors and healthcare in the country. They had cured her mother last time, back when Mary had only been a child...

"We may be royal, but we are human first," said the queen. "Money cannot buy everything, or solve every problem. Besides, it is worse than last time-I cannot be certain that there will be a cure this time."

"No," Mary whispered, as though this statement would make her mother's illness go away.

This could not be happening. She could not be facing the possibility of losing her mother. Their relationship had been so strained for so long, but still, this news was no less devastating.

"If anything should happen to me in the near future-"

"No!" Mary insisted this time, even louder. All she was short of doing was placing her hands over her ears like a child and shaking her head in an attempt to block out the words.

Her mother ignored her. "If anything should happen," she repeated, "your brother will be King of Scotland. He will marry Kenna, and the two of them will rule the country, along with any children they may have. Your father will most likely be appointed as James's chief advisor. Already, I have started to hand over a lot of my duties to them; your brother and father have headed to London this morning to attend a meeting on my behalf. I am sure that your brother will not throw you out of the castle, but your place here, your role, will be a lot less certain after James becomes king."

"No," Mary continued to repeat, pathetically. This could not be happening. Not now. She had always thought that she would have _years_ before she had to consider any of this. And now, it seemed like everything was changing, almost overnight. She was going to be left all alone, with only James and Kenna and her father for company, all of whom would have roles and priorities of their own...

She sank down into the nearest chair, feeling like she no longer had the strength to stand.

Her mother continued to stare at her in silence for a couple of minutes, as though contemplating her next words.

Mary could barely look her in the eye.

Finally, she continued, "A marriage to Francis and an alliance with France would give you other options and make your position as a royal much more secure-"

"Francis and I cannot have a conversation without arguing!" Mary cut her off with a glare. "We are barely even friends! I don't know for sure if he will ever return from France. I will _not_ marry someone simply for an alliance-"

"You _must_ try harder with Francis," her mother interrupted her, a note of desperation in her own voice now. "Life will not be easy in Scotland, with France as an enemy..."

"You only care about making Scotland's position more secure!" Mary was unable to resist snapping at her.

"Mary," her mother sighed, looking more weary than ever, "now is not the time for arguments..."

"I could leave," Mary muttered, not really sure if she was offering a threat, or a warning, or a suggestion. All she knew was that her mother was trying to force her into this 'alliance' out of fear, and desperation; she was not even considering the fact that life in Scotland would not be easy anyway-not with rebels watching their every move and trying to bring the royal family down. James would only inherit the same problem, regardless of any of Mary's decisions.

"I could run away from the castle with Sebastian," she whispered, as a tear started to fall slowly down her cheek. She didn't bother to try to wipe it away, and her mother didn't comment on it-she was too busy frowning at Mary's words. "I could start a new life, somewhere else in Scotland; somewhere far away from here..."

It was tempting, oh so tempting. The thought of just running away from all of her problems. Especially when she had had no contact with Francis for days. Bash would run away with her, she was sure of it. But then, she had once been so sure that her brother would run away from the castle with her, and he had proved her wrong, again and again.

Her mother continued to watch her, looking lost in thought. When she spoke again, her words surprised Mary: "I'm going to make a deal with you," she said.

Mary frowned at her, feeling confused. She didn't understand how her mother could still treat all of this like some kind of political negotiation, in light of what she had just revealed. Was her mother not afraid? Was being a queen really more important to her than being human?

"If," her mother went on, without waiting for Mary to speak, "at the end of this three month process, you decide that a relationship with Francis will not work out, then I will allow you to leave the show..."

Mary stared at her in disbelief.

"You can choose to date others, or remain single, or even run off with that boy from the stables, if that's what you want..."

As her mother rolled her eyes at her own words, Mary struggled to keep her expression neutral, so as not to unintentionally give anything away.

"What is the catch?" Mary asked, suspiciously, after a few moments of silence. This 'deal' of her mother's seemed far too good to be true.

"You must promise me that if and when he returns here from France, you will truly give Francis Valois a chance; I want you to give him _serious_ consideration as a potential husband. This is not about Scotland's security, I'm thinking about _your_ security after I am gone."

Mary opened her mouth to say something, but the queen held up her hand to stop her.

"And by 'taking this process seriously'," she told Mary, her tone firm, "I don't just mean performing well in front of the cameras as part of the show. I'm talking about you spending time with Francis, away from the cameras; getting to know him as a person. The two of you are to go out on dates, talk, find out if you are compatible. Try to _talk_ , instead of argue. This deal would also involve you spending time with Francis and his family in France. You need to have a good idea as to whether you could take on royal duties in France, should the two of you decide to marry. And if, after all that, you still wish to withdraw from the matchmaking process, then I will allow it. I will also ensure that your father and brother allow it...if circumstances are different, in a few months' time-but only if we are all certain that you have tried your best."

Mary took a sharp breath, not wanting to think about how 'circumstances' could be different in a few months' time. She thought about the deal that her mother was offering. She hadn't asked for any of this; she hadn't wanted any of these awful things to happen, but perhaps this was the best offer she was going to receive. Now, there was finally a way out, if she chose to take it.

"I accept your deal," Mary informed her mother with a curt nod. She tried her best to hold herself together, as though her world wasn't currently falling apart.

"You're really going to make an effort with Francis?" her mother asked with a raised eyebrow, her tone doubtful. "You're going to do your duty and fully participate in the show?"

Mary nodded.

"Good. Then I must prepare for a meeting this afternoon," said the queen.

Taking this as a hint that she was being dismissed, Mary got up from her chair. Her legs felt like lead.

"Oh, and Mary?" her mother called out to her, just before Mary reached the door, as though she had just remembered something.

Slowly, Mary turned back around to face her, just in time to see her mother place a piece of paper on the desk. It was clearly a newspaper article that had been printed out.

Mary moved closer to look at it.

 _The Rebel Princess?_ the headline read.

Underneath the headline was a long, detailed article, as well as several pictures, all of them of Mary.

There was a picture of Mary walking through the local village, the hood of her coat only partially covering her face. Her expression looked secretive, like she had something to hide. It was clear that she wasn't supposed to be there.

There was another picture of Mary at the local pub, the evening she had gone there with Bash.

There were a couple of pictures of Mary standing in the background looking bored as her mother and brother took on royal duties, then there was the infamous picture of Mary during her most recent interview, with the bird-in-flight pin pinned to her shirt.

All of these moments that Mary had always assumed had been private ones, and all this time, there had been someone there, spying on her, taking pictures, twisting all of these words and images in an attempt to discredit her, to put the theory out there that she was somehow working in support of the Scottish rebels. There _were_ people watching her after all. Mary felt a prickle of fear just at the thought of it.

Apparently, her mother was worried about the article for entirely different reasons: "All of this," she said, her tone of voice warning as she pointed at the article, "is _not_ the behaviour of a potential future queen. Rebels don't make good royals, Mary..."

Mary continued to stare at the pictures, still feeling ashamed. Her _mother_ knew that she had been sneaking out, visiting the local village and the pub. How long had she known? Had she known about Mary's secret visit to the castle in France, on that awful night? Why wasn't she furious about it all?

"There may come a time when you really do hope to marry the future king of France, and there may be a few decisions that you regret. You should take more care with your words and actions if you're planning on an official visit to France soon. I might have allowed your Publicist to return, but I will not tolerate any more articles like this one-and believe me, the king and queen of France are less tolerant than I am."

Mary could do nothing more than nod, trying not to feel overwhelmed by yet another threat of danger, of yet another breach of her privacy.

Finally, she turned around and left her mother's office.

Just before she left, she was sure she heard her mother mutter something that sounded like, "You and I, we are so alike."

* * *

Mary walked slowly away from the office, as though in a daze. She felt almost as though she were back on stage on the first episode of the matchmaking show, when she'd first caught sight of Francis-it was like everything around her was happening in slow motion, and all the typical sounds of the castle were muffled. She even felt a little dizzy, and like she was struggling to think clearly. She felt detached from her own body.

All these weeks, all these months, her mother had been sick, and she hadn't realised. Once or twice she'd thought she seemed a little tired, a little under the weather, but then she'd dismissed those thoughts. Had she really been so lost in her own world and her own worries that she hadn't seen the signs?

Her feet seemed to be carrying her forward, although Mary couldn't think properly about where she was going.

Eventually, she arrived at the foot of a steep spiral staircase that she knew led up to the castle roof.

The roof had always been a place of refuge for Mary over the years, ever since childhood-a place where she could take in the view, get some fresh air, clear her thoughts.

Yet today, she was certain that the rooftop location would provide no comfort to her. It would simply be a place to hide away, if only for a little while; a place of escape.

It was only as she started to climb the stairs that the full weight of everything her mother had just told her finally started to push down on her. Her mother was sick. She didn't know how long her mother had left to live. James could soon be king. Kenna would be his wife. Her father would be James's advisor. James and Kenna would have children-a family and priorities of their own. Mary would be all alone.

For all of their conflict and disagreements over the years, Mary couldn't imagine what life would be like without her mother there.

As she stepped out onto the castle roof, Mary was vaguely aware of the fact that the weather was still a little misty today, but she barely noticed her surroundings.

Without looking around, she walked quickly towards the castle wall, trying her best to take deep breaths of cold air as she looked down at the gardens.

She noticed Lola and Narcisse, down in the gardens, walking hand-in-hand among the trees in the distance.

She became aware of a low voice coming from the other side of the roof, but she didn't turn around to see who was talking. She assumed that it was probably a guard, on a routine patrol; she wasn't even sure she cared that much.

She looked down at the garden again. To her surprise, she saw Kenna and Bash, standing a few feet away from Lola and Narcisse, apparently playing some sort of game of football together as they kicked a ball from one to the other. Kenna looked a lot more relaxed than usual, dressed casually in trousers and a flowing white shirt, with a flower pinned in her hair. Mary would never have pictured her like this, smiling and carefree, even giggling a little as she passed the ball to Bash with surprising skill, while Bash grinned back at her, his expression softer, kinder than Mary had seen before. Perhaps this was who Kenna really was, when she didn't have to put on a show with James.

Something about seeing the four of them, looking so happy, so close, so sure of who they were and where they were going, made Mary feel even more unsure, even more lost and alone.

Suddenly, the full impact of everything that had happened over the past few weeks, the past few days, the past few hours, finally hit her. She had to lean on the castle wall for support as she began to sob, unable to stop the tears from falling rapidly down her cheeks.

As she cried, she couldn't stop the flashbacks from the night before-the figure appearing out of the darkness, backing her into the wall, telling her that she was being watched.

She really was being watched. Her mother might have said that she was only imagining the whispers and the footsteps in the castle, but the threat last night and all of the pictures in the newspaper article surely proved that somebody was following her, and that she was in danger.

She remembered how afraid she had been last night; how she had been unable to move, to react in her shock. It hit her just how much danger she had been in; how vulnerable she'd been; how much worse things could have been; how it could happen again soon...

Her tears continued to fall. Her hands were shaking. She could barely stand.

She thought again about her mother, about how she was sick again. She remembered how it had been last time, years ago, when her mother had looked so weak, so frail. All of it was going to happen again.

She thought about James, how he wasn't even here. He was away doing his duty, as usual. For so long, it had felt as though the two of them had been drifting apart. And James had been looking so unhappy recently. He must have known about their mother's condition-he had to have known already, if the queen was already starting to hand over her royal duties to him. And he hadn't thought to tell his sister.

She thought about Francis, how he had left, how they had argued so much since the show started.

Her sobs were coming out in loud gasps now. The tears wouldn't stop.

"Mary..."

Mary heard a voice, softly whispering her name. For a moment, she was sure that she had only imagined it, but then she heard it again.

Then, her eyes still filled with tears, she saw a flash of blond, wavy hair...

Mary blinked rapidly, almost unable to believe it.

How could he be here, up on the castle roof? He had gone to France; she had been so sure he wouldn't come back.

"Mary?"

She heard him say her name again, the tone of voice full of concern. No one had spoken to her with that much concern in their voice before, and this idea only made her cry even harder.

"F-Francis?" she managed to gasp between her sobs, still almost unable to believe that he was right here.

"I'm here," he whispered, his words sounding tentative, but still concerned. His voice was so soft, so calming.

He looked right at her; he reached out a hand as though he wanted to comfort her. But still he kept a little distance between them, as though afraid to get too close; like he was afraid that Mary might push him away.

Before she could think about what she was doing, and before she could remember all of their recent arguments and disagreements, Mary took a step towards him, and then he was wrapping his arms around her, holding her almost protectively as she continued to cry.

Mary knew that she must look a mess right now, but she didn't care. She just needed someone to be there for her in this moment of despair.

In spite of the awful circumstances, there was something strangely comforting about being held in Francis's arms. He felt powerful, strong. She felt safe.

Perhaps they had once been affectionate with each other like this, back when they were children; perhaps they really had been as close as her mother always insisted they were, once; perhaps, for all these years, Mary had been missing something that she hadn't even known she had lost.

"You're shaking," Francis muttered. He still sounded scared.

Scared on _her_ behalf, Mary realised, as he continued to hold her close.

Mary could only nod as she held Francis even tighter.

* * *

"Mary, are you sure that you're all right?"

For the past few minutes, Mary had been staring down at the white jumper she was wearing over her clothes, until Francis's question interrupted her thoughts.

 _Francis's jumper..._ she silently reminded herself, as she thought again about how strange that was.

After she had stopped crying, she had been unable to stop herself from trembling.

Francis had insisted that they both go back inside, and so they had taken refuge in a dusty old corner of the library, away from the prying eyes of others in the castle, but not before Francis had gone to find a warm item of clothing for Mary to wear.

And so Mary had ended up putting on the white jumper that Francis had worn when they'd first shared a conversation after the opening ceremony.

She pulled the jumper closer to her body, as though the item of clothing alone could provide her with comfort. There was something oddly soothing about it, even though Mary wasn't sure what it was. She liked that it was a little too big for her, how it seemed to wrap her up like a blanket. She liked the way it smelled, fresh and clean, even though this thought made her want to blush.

Realising that she was still staring down in fascination at the white item of clothing, Mary forced herself to look up at Francis from across the polished wooden table in the library, where they were sitting close to one another.

Closer than they had been for weeks.

"No," Mary told him with a sigh, deciding that she might as well be honest, after the state that Francis had just seen her in. For perhaps the first time ever, Mary realised that she was sick of all the lies; sick of all the covering up and the sneaking around. "But I will be, eventually," she added, trying her best to smile. For the first time in a long time, she could actually allow herself to believe that she might be okay, in the end.

Francis nodded, apparently appreciating her honesty, but there was still a concerned frown on his face. Mary guessed that he didn't really know what to do, what to say-there was still a sort of awkward tension between the two of them, with so much left unsaid.

But still, Mary was grateful that Francis was here, that he was staying by her side, that he actually cared enough to not leave her alone right now. He had even requested that tea be brought to them in the library, ignoring the disgruntled muttering of all the staff at the unusual request. He seemed to think that the hot drink might help Mary to feel a little better.

And so there was now a tray containing a large pot of tea and two cups on the table between them.

Mary was almost tempted to laugh about all this-a part of her wanted to send a message to Greer, to tell her friend that she was currently sitting across a library table, facing the future king of France, wearing his jumper, the two of them drinking tea together, surrounded by the old books that Mary had once searched through to find out the meaning of the bird-in-flight symbol. If this were actually a date, then it would be a pretty strange one. Greer would no doubt find it all hilarious-bizarre, but hilarious.

But then Mary shook her head, fighting off a sudden urge to blush as she poured tea into her cup to distract herself. This wasn't a date; she and Francis were barely even friends, and nothing about this situation was funny. She knew that later tonight, she would feel mortified, humiliated that Francis (a future _king_ ; the son of her mother's _rivals_ ) had seen her in tears; embarrassed that she had lost control like that.

Perhaps she really had gone into shock, or maybe she was delirious, or hysterical with everything that had happened recently.

Feeling suddenly serious again, Mary decided she should try to make conversation, now that there seemed to be this new-found peace between the two of them:

"I-I wasn't sure that you would come back from France," she whispered, breaking the heavy silence. "After...after everything."

Francis looked surprised at these words. He seemed to be studying her closely, like he was trying to decide how much he should tell her. "My father was very ill," he said eventually, with a pained expression on his face. "I had to return to see him. He has recovered, slightly, enough that I felt comfortable enough to return...I was always planning on returning...but the doctors say it's only a matter of time before-" He went quiet, looking uncomfortable, as though he had given too much away.

"I'm sorry," Mary told him, and she genuinely meant it, although she'd never been much of a fan of the French king.

A part of her was surprised that Francis really had had a genuine reason to return to France-that he hadn't just wanted to run away from her, and another part of her was trying hard not to think about the implications of what Francis had just revealed-if his father really was that sick, then it meant that Francis could be king a lot sooner than Mary had thought.

"My mother is very ill, too," Mary told him. She hadn't planned on telling Francis this, not today, and she knew how risky it would be, to place this information in the hands of a rival country, but she decided that she had to try to trust Francis, if she really was going to continue with this matchmaking process like her mother had asked her to do. Besides, the two of them were equal now, after what Francis had just revealed to her; after he had comforted her like that on the rooftop; after he had trusted _her_ with the information about his father.

And she just needed to tell _someone_ , to ease the burden a little.

Still, it didn't stop her eyes from filling with fresh tears as she said the words out loud.

"Mary, I'm so sorry," said Francis. And he looked it, too.

"That-that was not the only reason I was so...distressed today," Mary told him, hurriedly, before she could talk herself out of it. Still, she had to fight off another blush at the thought that Francis Valois had seen her cry like that. Her hands also started to shake again, and she had to place her cup of tea back down on the table.

She paused and took a few deep breaths while Francis waited patiently for her to speak.

"I...I was threatened, last night, at the wedding," she told him, in barely more than a whisper. "I went outside for just a moment-" Mary trailed off, unable to talk about it anymore, half-afraid that Francis would lecture her about how irresponsible she had been, the way her mother had done.

"Mary, are you all right?" Francis asked her again. The expression of real concern, of genuine fear, was back on his face again.

Suddenly, to Mary's surprise, Francis was out of his chair and kneeling in front of her, the way he had done in the television room after the opening ceremony, when he'd been trying to comfort her and trying to apologise to her for having to participate in the show.

"I will be," she tried to insist, ignoring another tear that travelled slowly down her cheek. As awful as it was to talk about last night, a part of her felt relieved at being able to share this with somebody; with somebody who actually seemed to care about her wellbeing. She almost wished she could thank him, for actually checking that she was okay, rather than treating the threat as a political issue. She was not used to this caring behaviour from members of royal families.

"What would you do?" Mary asked him tentatively, deciding that she really was going to make an effort to work in partnership with Francis now. "If this had happened in France, I mean?"

She noticed the subtle change in Francis's expression, and she knew that she was now seeing Francis-the-future-king, instead of the concerned childhood friend.

"We would increase security, both inside the castle and out," he told her, his voice professional now. "We could provide you with bodyguards from the French castle, if you wish. We would launch and enquiry to catch the culprit, perhaps put a few trusty advisors on the case. But, Mary, I would advise you not to hide away; don't let them think that they've got the better of you... _You_ will win this-not the rebels, not the anti-royalists, not even the snakes who hang around the Scottish and French castles..."

Mary stared at him in surprise. She had half-expected him to say all of those things, but still, in this moment, Francis reminded her a lot more of his mother than his father, who Mary had always assumed he took after. This resemblance would have been amusing too, in other circumstances.

Eventually, she nodded. It was a gesture that she had been taught by other royals-acknowledge that the advice has been heard, without making any promises to follow it.

To add to her surprise, she realised that in spite of his impassioned royal speech, Francis was still kneeling down beside her. He was still worried about her.

Somehow, the two of them had ended up holding hands. Suddenly, Mary had a vague recollection of them being affectionate with each other like this before, back when they were children. Perhaps they had held hands several times in the past, and the hidden memories of those moments had unconsciously brought them back to that gesture.

Mary stared at their joined hands, lost in thought. She knew that in a crisis, Francis was the person to be around. He was brave, selfless. So many times, his hand had reached out to hers, ready to catch her before she fell.

But a relationship involved so much more than fighting together on a battlefield. If she really wanted to see if something could happen between them, then Mary would have to take that step into the unknown; she would have to get to know _Francis-the-boyfriend_ , rather than _Francis-the-king_. She would have to see who he was when he wasn't being a king; who he was after a crisis had passed.

Eventually, she made a decision.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea to get away from here for a little while," she said, slowly. "To get away from Scotland, I mean."

Francis looked up at her, surprise and confusion written all over his face. "What do you mean?" he asked her, gently.

Mary took a few moments to think before she spoke again. She thought about how big a step this would be. But then she thought about the deal she'd just made with her mother, and everything she'd promised her she would do, in order to give the matchmaking process a real chance. She had agreed to all of it, in order to ensure that by the end of the process, the decision could be hers.

"What if we filmed the next episode of the show in France? At the French castle?" she clarified.

Francis looked visibly shocked by this proposal. Mary could tell that he hadn't expected her to ever suggest it.

She almost felt shocked herself. Only a week ago, she would probably not have agreed to this. But now, with everything else that was going on, the prospect of a visit to France didn't seem so terrifying anymore. She was almost looking forward to getting away from all of the problems in Scotland for a little while.

"You would really want to do that?" he asked, as though he didn't dare believe it.

Mary nodded. The small smile on Francis's face at her response almost made this daring step worth it. It made her feel slightly less terrified, at least. Even Bash had never looked this happy at the prospect of getting to spend time with her. Did Francis really want to give the matchmaking process a chance, too?

"I'll make sure it goes as smoothly as possible," Francis promised, as though he still needed to persuade her to agree to this. "I know how...interesting the French royal family can seem, to those who are not part of it. If at any point you need to get away from them for a little while-"

These words (and the promise of not having to deal with Catherine and Henry twenty-four hours a day) made Mary feel brave enough to make her next suggestion...

"Well, perhaps you and I could go somewhere alone together-as part of the show, I mean-if filming at the French castle gets a little tedious after a little while..."

She knew that the public had been demanding that the two of them spend more time alone together in upcoming episodes, after all, and she knew it was only fair to honour their requests, as part of her promise to the queen of Scotland.

"Like a date?" Francis asked her with a grin.

Mary could tell that he was teasing her, but still, there was something about the look on his face that made Mary think that perhaps he was interested in trying something like that.

"Mary, I'm joking," Francis told her quickly, like he'd interpreted the embarrassed look on Mary's face as reluctance. "But, if there _is_ somewhere you'd like to go in France, anywhere, then name it, and we can go and film there."

"Anywhere?" Mary asked him, almost smiling now.

"Anywhere," Francis replied, looking like a king again, a king who had the means to deliver on any promise, any request; a king who had a whole country at his command.

Assuming that he was joking, just trying to make her feel better and forget about her problems, Mary decided to play along: "I've always wanted to go to Paris," she told him with a raised eyebrow. "And I mean _really_ go to Paris, not just as part of a royal visit."

Francis stood up and smiled at her. "Then we shall go to Paris," he announced.


	12. Chapter 12

"Mesdames et messieurs..."

"Je suis très heureux d'être ici…"

"Merci pour m'avoir invité à votre pays…"

Mary paced up and down the floor of the television room, reciting words in French over and over. She knew that she would have to make one or two official speeches in the language when she arrived at the castle in France, and she'd been using every opportunity to practice in the Scottish castle over the few days since she had decided to travel with Francis.

"Well?" she asked her Publicist, when she finally stopped pacing. She was definitely out of practice when it came to speaking French. She turned to look at Narcisse, who was lounging on a nearby sofa, watching her with a contemplative expression on his face.

"Not bad," he replied with a vague nod.

As her Publicist, he had been helping her to prepare for the royal visit, assisting her with her speech-giving practice, going over lists of possible questions and answers when dealing with the media, helping to prepare her schedule for the three-day visit, and even working with Mary's fashion designers to help plan her outfits.

Mary sighed at Narcisse's response. She supposed it was probably about the best she could hope for, given the short amount of time she'd had to prepare. She only hoped that she had done enough.

Narcisse had just started to go over a few not-so-diplomatic topics that Mary should probably avoid talking about while she was in France, when they were interrupted by the sound of a loud knock on the door.

"Can we come in yet?" Mary heard Lola's voice shouting through the door.

"Yes, hurry up, Narcisse!" she then heard Kenna's bossy voice call out after Lola.

Mary rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help smiling at how eager they were to get into the room.

Since Lola had found out that Francis had agreed to take Mary to Paris, Lola had been far too enthusiastic about the whole thing for Mary's liking. Lola had also told Kenna all about it, and Kenna had 'conveniently' arranged a visit to the Scottish castle this week 'to see James'-a visit which had mainly consisted of giggling and gossiping with Lola for the past three days, while Mary tried her best to tell them to be quiet.

"Fine, enter," Narcisse told the girls with a sigh.

The door was flung open, and Kenna and Lola burst into the room, holding various hairbrushes and makeup bags in their hands.

Mary shook her head in exasperation. She had agreed to allow Lola and Kenna to help her get ready for her visit to France in the last hour before she had to leave the Scottish castle to head to the airport, acting against the advice of her hair and makeup team, but now, she was starting to have second thoughts.

They seemed to be acting like Mary was a regular teenage girl who was about to go on a date, and this idea was making Mary feel a little dizzy.

She was just about to warn them not to go over-the-top with her makeup when she caught sight of somebody else standing in the doorway…

"Greer!" she shouted in surprise, before she ran to hug her best friend.

Mary almost couldn't believe it…she knew that Greer was due to leave Scotland for her honeymoon in a couple of days' time, but it seemed her friend had made the time for a surprise visit to the castle in the meantime.

Mary didn't have too long for greetings and exclamations of surprise with Greer-Kenna ushered her into the nearest chair, complaining that they didn't have much time before Mary had to leave, and then Lola and Kenna began to style Mary's hair and apply her makeup, with Greer occasionally helping them out.

After about fifteen minutes, they were interrupted by another knock on the door.

They all turned towards the doorway in time to see Bash enter the room, looking a little sheepish at disturbing them.

As he bowed politely to them all, Mary glanced in Kenna's direction-she seemed to be watching Bash with a curious expression on her face.

"Princess," Bash greeted her with a half-smile, after he had said hello to the others.

Mary managed to smile back at him, but still she watched him curiously, although perhaps for different reasons than Kenna-Bash was still something of a mystery to her; a puzzle wrapped in pretty packaging that she felt like she had to solve.

Discreetly, he nodded his head in the direction of the far corner of the room, and Mary worked out that he wanted to talk to her in private.

Mary excused herself from the 'makeup chair' for a few moments, making several promises that she wouldn't take too long, and then she followed Bash to the corner of the room, just out of earshot of the others. She could practically feel Kenna's eyes on the two of them the whole time.

"I have something for you," Bash told her in barely more than a whisper, the moment they were out of earshot.

With that, he took off the plain and simple ring he always wore on his finger and handed it to her.

"Bash, I can't accept this," said Mary, feeling strangely uncomfortable, for some reason. She started to remind him that the ring had been a gift to Bash from his mother, but Bash cut her off-

"It's only a temporary gift, for your visit to France," he explained. "The ring is carved with all sorts of symbols of Scotland and Scottish royalty-anyone who catches sight of it will be sure you're wearing it as a sign of loyalty to your country. I thought it might help to make a good impression, especially after your last interview…"

Mary couldn't help shuddering as she remembered her recent disastrous interview, and the bird-in-flight pin, and the argument with Francis that had followed. She was still afraid that the public would react negatively to her, believing her to have deliberately worn a rebel symbol on television.

"Thank you," said Mary as she finally accepted the ring from Bash.

She wasn't sure how to feel about it. A part of her was grateful that Bash seemed to be trying to help her to bring about some positive publicity for the Scottish royal family while she was in France-or trying to protect Mary, at least-but another part of her was a little suspicious-why would Bash need to wear something that gave the _appearance_ of being loyal to Scotland in the first place? Was he _really_ full of Scottish pride? Or did he simply want everyone to think that he was? What was he hiding?

Before she could voice any of these concerns, Mary caught sight of Kenna walking out of the room. She looked so distressed that Mary decided she should probably go and check on her.

She thanked Bash again and excused herself. As she walked out of the room, she hurriedly untied her makeshift necklace that she made from black ribbon from her around her neck, and threaded the ribbon through the ring, so that the ring sat next to the silver key. Then, she placed the ribbon back around her neck.

It didn't take Mary too long to find Kenna-the door to the room opposite the television room had been left half-open. Mary walked inside the room and gently closed the door behind her. To her surprise, Kenna was looking very glum as she sat on the window seat and stared out of the large windows with her arms folded. As Mary got even closer, she was even more surprised to see that Kenna was crying.

Kenna was alerted to Mary's presence when Mary accidentally stepped on a particularly creaky bit of the wooden floor, and Kenna jumped at the loud noise before she rolled her eyes and glared in Mary's direction.

"I'm sorry, I'll just, er…" Mary stammered as she gestured in the direction of the door. She wasn't really sure what to do-Kenna was always so strong, so composed, and so sarcastic-she'd never seen her break down like this. She was sure that Kenna never would have _wanted_ Mary to see her like this.

She had just taken a few steps in the direction of the door when Kenna finally spoke-

"What's it like, Mary?" she said, her voice sounding shaky.

"I'm sorry?" Mary asked her with a confused frown.

"Francis," Kenna whispered, like this explained anything. "I've seen the way he looks at you," Kenna finally continued after a long pause, as Mary fought off a strange urge to blush. "And Bash," she added, now looking even more devastated.

"Kenna," said Mary, uncertainly. She wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Did Kenna have a crush on _Francis_? Or would she have simply preferred a marriage proposal from a powerful future King of France, instead of the future King of Scotland? " _Every_ boy looks at you like that," she insisted. It was true, after all. Back during their school days in London, all the boys had always wanted Kenna.

But Kenna shook her head, as though Mary was wrong in what she was saying.

Mary tried a different approach: "You're engaged to the King of Scotland. You're going to be a queen, just like you always wanted-"

"James doesn't love me," Kenna interrupted her, as another tear fell down her cheek. "Not the way that Francis loves _you-_ "

"Kenna, stop," said Mary. It made her uncomfortable, when anybody talked about Francis having feelings for her, especially when Mary was fairly certain that those feelings didn't exist.

"You all know it's true, about me and James," Kenna continued, apparently misinterpreting Mary's reasons for cutting the conversation off. "I'm sure you and Greer laugh about it together, the way you always used to laugh at me back in London-"

Mary felt a strange twist of guilt. It had never even occurred to her that Kenna could be hurt by anything Mary and Greer said about her-especially as she always seemed to consider herself to be so superior to the two of them.

"He'll be my husband, but not my lover, or my knight, or my _prince_ ," Kenna sobbed. "Never that."

Before Mary could say anything in response, Mary caught her staring at the ring that was hanging from her necklace. Bash's ring.

"It must be nice," said Kenna with a sigh, "to have a boy look at you like that, to have a boy take you on a date to _Paris_ …I've always wanted to go on a romantic trip to Paris…"

At those words, and the expression of mingled jealousy and longing on Kenna's face, something suddenly became perfectly clear to Mary, something that really, she had known all along.

This was not about Kenna's feelings for James, or even her feelings about Mary's upcoming weekend with Francis. It was _Bash_ who Kenna had feelings for; it was _Bash_ who she wanted.

In other circumstances, Mary might even have laughed at this revelation. Kenna, who had only ever looked at future kings and powerful politicians. Kenna, who would stop at nothing to marry into a ruling family. And after all that, she had fallen for the boy who worked in the castle stables; the boy who was so poor he could barely afford to buy a ring from a local giftshop. But there was nothing funny about any of this.

"Kenna," said Mary, her own voice shaking; "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

Kenna shook her head and wiped away a tear. "I have a duty to my own country," she declared.

Mary recognised that look-she had seen it on the faces of her mother and her brother hundreds of times-Kenna was steeling herself, pushing her emotions down, preparing herself to do her duty, in spite of what her heart was telling her.

"I have to go through with this marriage," she announced to the almost empty room, her voice sounding hollow, empty.

Mary felt heartbroken just watching her. "You, me and Lola," she said, before she could think better of it, "what a mess we are all in…" It was the first time that Mary had considered the three of them as truly in this together.

Surprisingly, Kenna actually managed a smile at this statement. "That's an understatement," she replied.

Eventually, after several promises that Kenna could finish applying her makeup, Mary persuaded her to head back into the television room with her.

As they walked across the hall, Mary tucked her black necklace into her shirt, hiding the key and the ring from view. After what Kenna had just revealed, she no longer felt so pleased at the idea of Bash giving her the ring.

It turned out that the others had barely noticed their absence from the room-Bash was making polite conversation with Greer about her wedding, and thanking her for allowing him to attend, while Lola and Narcisse were sitting close together on the sofa, holding hands as they pretended to be paying attention to a news report about yet another protest in Edinburgh.

Mary felt a flicker of fear on their behalf, as she wondered what would happen when her mother inevitably found out about Lola and Narcisse's romance.

After Bash had left the room, the girls had a few more minutes to style Mary's hair and apply her makeup, but all too soon, Narcisse was ushering Mary out of her seat, telling her that the flight was scheduled to take off soon, and the film crew was waiting for her.

With a sigh, Mary started to head out into the corridor. Just before she could leave the room, Narcisse took hold of her arm.

"Remember," he told her in a low voice when Mary turned back to look at him, "you are in control of this show-you could potentially be a queen of France…don't spend this whole trip bowing to the king and queen's every whim; you are not their subject."

Mary could only nod-it felt like there were already too many thoughts and plans and strategies in her head at the moment.

It seemed like Narcisse was still treating the matchmaking show as his own personal game. Mary just wasn't sure if he considered her as an ally or merely a chess piece who he could manoeuvre whenever he felt like it; a card that he could deal when he needed to win the imaginary game.

* * *

Mary was already nervous enough, so it definitely didn't help that Lola, Kenna and Greer had decided to follow her on her way to the entrance hall, where she was due to meet with Francis.

When she finally arrived at the top of the grand staircase that led down to the entrance hall, Mary spotted Francis immediately. He was dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, with his wavy blond hair perfectly styled. He also looked very regal, standing up straight with his hands clasped behind his back, and a very serious expression on his face…

He was handsome. Mary hardly ever allowed herself to think this, but the truth of it was undeniable.

Mary felt another rush of nerves. Suddenly, her throat felt dry, and her legs felt heavy, along with her breathing. She wasn't sure that she would be able to put one leg in front of the other and walk down the stairs. Even worse, the television crew also surrounded the entrance hall, waiting to capture everything on camera.

"Go on," Lola prompted her, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Mary looked over her shoulder at her three friends (although she wasn't fully sure if she could call Kenna her friend just yet), and they all looked like they were trying not to giggle like schoolgirls.

She might have rolled her eyes at the three of them, but still Mary leaned in to give Greer a hug before she left. She held her tight, trying not to think about how long it might be before she saw her best friend again.

As she willed herself to take that first step so she could walk down the stairs, Mary thought not about Francis-the-future-king who was standing waiting for her; instead, she thought about the boy who had held her protectively in his arms when she'd been crying on the castle roof only a few days ago; she thought about the boy who had allowed her to wear his jumper as he comforted her in the library; the boy who had looked so happy when she'd told him she would go to France with him; the boy who had told her he would take her to Paris.

These were the thoughts that carried her down the stairs towards Francis.

With every step she took, she was grateful that her stylists had decided to dress her in a simple white shirt and black trousers today for the journey, along with a pair of plain black shoes with only a small heel.

Francis seemed to notice her the moment she started walking down the stairs. He stopped looking in the direction of the Throne Room and looked up at her. His stern expression seemed to soften a little, and he even managed a smile.

"Mary," he greeted her as she got a little closer.

Somehow, Mary felt a little light-headed, just at hearing him utter that one word.

"Francis," she replied, trying to sound as dignified as possible.

He held out his hand, silently offering to help her take her final steps down the stairs.

Mary accepted the offer, taking his hand in hers. It would almost have been a nice moment, if not for the fact that several members of the camera crew stepped closer to them, trying to zoom in on their joined hands, and also the fact that Mary really could hear the three girls giggling now, from wherever they were hiding upstairs.

"I'm sorry," Mary whispered to Francis, through gritted teeth.

"It's fine," he replied. Luckily, he looked amused by it all.

There wasn't much time to make small talk, as several members of staff started to usher them out of the entrance hall.

As she started to head outside, Mary looked over her shoulder, wanting to catch one more glimpse of her home before she left the country for a couple of days.

In that moment, she noticed her mother, her father and James, all of them leaning over the wooden railings that overlooked the entrance hall. It seemed that they had forgone their royal duties this morning so they could come and say goodbye to her, in their own way.

When Mary caught her eye, her mother nodded her, and Mary nodded back, before she turned back around and headed out of the door. Something about the goodbye felt strangely final, as though something was ending.

* * *

There was a limo waiting in the driveway to take them to the airport. Several members of staff got into the car with them, although Mary wasn't sure if this was a blessing or a curse-on the one hand, it meant she could avoid any awkward silences with Francis, but on the other hand, her Publicity Team talked so obsessively about the trip to France that their conversation only served to make Mary feel even more terrified…

They went over the details again as the car headed in the direction of the airport-there would be photographers waiting, when they arrived at the French airport, and Mary and Francis would be expected to pose for a few photographs for them. Then there would be a car waiting to take them to the French castle. Upon their arrival, Mary would be giving a speech in French to the waiting subjects, in the hope that her speech might help to ease diplomatic relations between France and Scotland a little. Mary would also be expected to spend time with Francis's parents and his younger brothers, and she would have the opportunity to observe Francis and his family while they completed their royal duties, to see if she could fit into their lives, in the way that her mother hoped she would.

After that, Mary and Francis would be visiting Paris, together, on a date, with only a television crew for company.

Mary felt overwhelmed just at the thought of it.

Finally, the limo pulled up just outside the Scottish airport. Another team of staff arrived to walk them from the car across the airfield towards the Valois family's royal private jet.

* * *

Mary might have felt a little dazed and distracted, but it was impossible not to be impressed by the interior of the plane-there were expensive-looking leather seats and polished wooden tables with various glasses and plates and vases filled with flowers displayed on top of them; there were a couple of television screens and overhead lights, as well as a dark blue carpet on the floor, and large windows to look out of during the flight.

A member of the cabin crew led her to a seat next to Francis, and then the two of them were alone together-or alone as they could be, anyway.

As the plane's engines roared to life, and the crew prepared for take-off, Mary felt her heart start to beat faster. This was it. It was actually happening. She was really going to France, back to the scene of the attack two years ago. She was going away from Scotland, without her family, with only Francis by her side. She would have to face Henry and Catherine again, in a country that was a rival of Scotland, and she would be going on a date with Francis in Paris, her first real date, and she didn't know how to behave on a real-life date, and the cameras would be filming it all…

"Mary," she heard Francis whisper from the seat beside hers, "it'll be fine. I promise."

He had apparently sensed her nerves.

His voice was so soft, so comforting, in the way that it had been back in the library a couple of days ago. It was a voice that Mary wasn't sure many people had heard before-Francis did not sound so gentle when he was giving official royal speeches. It was a voice that she could believe in.

Mary nodded, feeling more reassured, but she was still finding it a little difficult to speak.

It was only when the plane was finally up in the sky that Francis seemed to realise something; Mary noticed him looking at all of the members of staff from Scotland who were on the plane with them. Then, he frowned, as though something didn't quite add up…

"Where is Narcisse?" Francis finally asked her.

Mary couldn't help frowning in return-although she felt more surprised and confused by the question than annoyed by it.

"I…I thought it would be easier, for diplomatic relations, if Narcisse stayed behind in Scotland this weekend," Mary replied, although she had thought this explanation would already have been obvious. She was already nervous enough about her visit to France, and she hadn't wanted to complicate things further by bringing an enemy of the Valois family into their castle.

"Oh," Francis simply replied, looking a little lost for words. He actually looked grateful that Mary had decided to leave Narcisse behind this weekend.

It occurred to Mary that Francis was genuinely surprised that she had not brought her Publicist with her; it occurred to her that he actually would have accepted it, if she'd wanted Narcisse to accompany her on this visit, in spite of the hatred between the two men.

Before either of them could say anything else, Francis was called away to speak to a member of his own Publicity Team about a meeting that would be taking place in the French castle later in the day, and Mary's team used the opportunity to brief her all over again about the schedule for their visit to France.

Mary tried not to look too exasperated; she knew that this would be the reality of a life with Francis-the two of them would always have duties to perform, people to meet, schedules to keep. They would not always have time alone together, in the way that a normal couple would.

Almost instinctively, Mary took hold of her necklace, which she had hidden under her shirt. She clasped her hand tightly around both the key and the ring.

She had other options. Even though those other options would bring about their own problems and complications. There were still options there, for now. But then she thought of Kenna, and James, and her mother, and the situation in Scotland, and she knew that the other options might not be there for much longer-time was running out. She would have to make a decision soon.

The moment she had tucked the necklace under her shirt again, hiding it from view, Francis sat back down beside her.

Mary stared at him for a few moments, lost in thought. Then, she made up her mind about something; she knew that if she was going to make an informed decision at the end of this matchmaking process, she would need to have as many facts as possible…

"What is the history, between you and Narcisse?" she asked Francis.

Francis visibly tensed at the question, and a look of pain crossed his face.

"I'm sorry," Mary muttered. "It's just…my mother is sick, the situation in Scotland is dire, my brother is about to inherit the throne, and I'm being pressured to make a decision that will affect my entire future. I'm not sure I can do that unless I have all the facts. Perhaps it would be better if we decided to be honest with each other…"

Mary knew that what she had just proposed would be risky-she was making some sort of promise to be honest herself with Francis in return for _his_ openness. Mary had never been very good at being honest and open.

However, her words seemed to do the trick, because Francis took a deep breath, and Mary just knew that he was about to tell her _something_ , at least…

"A few years ago," he started with a sigh, "Narcisse worked as a Publicist and Advisor in France for royals and celebrities alike. He was well-known for his under-handed methods, his back-handed deals, and his ruthlessness. He had a reputation for making problems…disappear…."

Mary turned in her seat so she could look right at Francis and give him her full attention. She saw that he looked visibly uncomfortable at his recollections of Narcisse. However, after a brief pause, he carried on talking…

"He came to work at the castle, on my mother's recommendation My mother was trying to get back at my father for an affair, and no doubt Narcisse was in the right place at the right time. He seemed to be skilled at pushing through not-so-pleasant deals that the two of them had come up with together. They were…close; I don't want to think about how close…"

Francis shuddered, and Mary felt a twist of sympathy at the look of pain on Francis's face. She'd heard rumours that the marriage between the King and Queen of France was not a very loving one, but she'd never really thought about what went on behind the scenes before. Yet it was perfectly clear what Francis was implying about his mother's relationship with Narcisse…

"Our subjects threatened to riot at some of the policies Narcisse helped to introduce," said Francis. "But that was not the worst of it-there were rumours, that he was in with groups of rebels who were in favour of abolishing the monarchy completely. Some said he was hoping to seize power for himself. He and his son had been spotted, now and again, meeting with suspected rebels and criminals in dark corners of dingy pubs in Paris…"

Mary felt a twist of discomfort as she thought about the fact that _she_ had spotted Narcisse hiding in a corner of a dark and dingy Scottish pub recently. She could only hope that he wasn't plotting something in Scotland.

"There was nothing we could do to prove it, however. But then, the…" Francis paused, looking like he was unsure whether he should say much more, "but then the attack on the castle happened…

Mary took a deep breath, trying not to allow the memories of that night to overwhelm her. Suddenly, an image appeared in her head, one that she had barely given much thought to since the explosion in the castle…

_A man wearing a mask had smirked at her, when she'd got past the guards that night in France. He'd held up his wine glass to her, in a toast to her success. He'd been pleased that she'd got one over on the royals…_

Of course, it had been Narcisse! She could see his face clearly in her mind now. He'd still been working for the French royal family back then. Had he been planning something, even as he'd smirked at her? Had he known that it was a Scottish princess, behind the mask? Was Francis about to tell her that he'd somehow been involved in the attack on the castle that night?

"Many were suspicious that he might have somehow been involved," Francis went on, as though he could read Mary's thoughts, "nothing could be proved to implicate Narcisse directly, but a few days later, private videos were leaked of Narcisse's son, giving anti-royal speeches to rebels-he was heard threatening some sort of attack on the castle, bragging about what he and his followers would do. In my father's eyes, it was enough evidence to place him under arrest. Narcisse was furious, of course. He made all sort of threats, promised to destroy us if we did not release his son. He leaked negative stories about the royals to the press; funds, treasures, important documents, were all stolen from the castle. Until finally, his son somehow managed to escape prison. I don't know how, or where he went, but he seemed to have fled the country. Narcisse wasn't far behind him, of course. He was in disgrace in France-he had helped to ruin the reputation of the royals, and many still suspected him to be behind the attack. Mary, you should know, before he left, he promised one final act of revenge against my family…"

"And then he ended up in Scotland…" Mary finished for him.

Francis nodded.

"And you're afraid that he's planning his final act as part of the matchmaking show..." Mary guessed.

Again, Francis nodded, with a very troubled look on his face.

At these words, an uncomfortable silence seemed to hang in the air between them.

Mary wasn't sure how she felt after hearing this story; it was not the same sob story that Narcisse had told her about being parted from his son. This story was very different. Somebody wasn't telling the truth, although right now, Mary felt like she believed Francis's version of events over Narcisse's.

There was no solid proof, of course, that Narcisse and his son had actually planned the attack, but the circumstances were definitely suspicious. Either way, Narcisse had definitely not been a pleasant character, back in France, and Mary hadn't seen much evidence that he had changed.

"Mary," said Francis, "I can't force you to dismiss him, but you should know, I'm afraid for you..."

In spite of her worry, Mary felt a little flattered by Francis's words-sometimes, it felt like nobody worried about her very much.

She knew she would have to keep an eye on Narcisse when she got back to Scotland. She was already suspicious about Bash and his mother carrying out secret meetings at the pub in the village, and she didn't like that Narcisse could also be up to something there, too. Was Mary inadvertently protecting people in the castle who were working against Scotland and its royal family?

Things would have to change, when she got back home. She would have to be more careful.

But still, Francis had been honest with her-he had allowed her to share in this not-so-pleasant part of his family's past…

"Thank you," Mary told him, and she meant it.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but he still looked a little distressed.

Without thinking too much about it, Mary reached for his hand. She might not have done it so willingly, back at the castle with everybody watching, but here, in the relative privacy of the plane, the gesture felt surprisingly normal. Mary had a strange feeling that she and Francis had held hands often before, back when they were children...

Francis looked surprised for a moment, but then he held Mary's hand in his, and the two of them sat in silence for a few moments. This time, the silence was not an uncomfortable one.

They were interrupted when a member of the cabin crew approached their seats. "We'll be landing soon," the woman informed them. She saw their joined hands and smiled at Francis, looking like a proud aunt who was meeting her favourite nephew's latest girlfriend. Mary tried not to blush too much.

"Thank you," Francis informed the woman with a polite nod, looking far more professional than Mary felt.

As the plane prepared for its slow descent, Mary looked out the window, mentally trying to prepare herself for what was to come.

The sun seemed brighter in the sky now, but the land below still seemed to be cast in shadow, as though it wanted to remain a mystery to her, for now.


	13. Chapter 13

In what seemed like no time at all, the private jet landed on French soil.

Mary barely had time to feel another rush of nerves before she was ushered towards the plane's exit door.

The waiting journalists and photographers might have been asked to remain at a distance from the private jet, but still Mary could hear their excited chatter, and she could see the constant flashing of the camera lens from across the airfield the moment the plane's door opened.

Mary took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself as she walked slowly down the stairs attached to the plane, focusing on not tripping over or falling. She knew that she was on display here, representing Scotland on what her mother would call a diplomatic mission. Now was not the time to get distracted and lose focus. The French media would home in on her every mistake.

Francis walked slowly down the stairs beside her. He looked a lot more comfortable than Mary did-Mary guessed that this was because, as the heir to the throne, Francis had a lot more practice at doing things like this in full view of the country's media.

At the very least, he gave her nods of what seemed to be reassurance every few seconds, and Mary felt slightly better.

They were escorted across the airfield by a team of security guards, while the camera crew walked backwards a few feet ahead of them, filming every moment of their arrival.

At the same time, the cameras in the distance continued to flash as photographers shouted their names.

"Welcome to France," Mary heard Francis mutter from next to her.

She looked up at him and noticed that he was smirking. It was so rare for her to hear Francis make sarcastic comments or joke around that Mary couldn't help grinning back at him.

They were allowed a few minutes inside one of the private rooms in the airport, where Mary was quickly surrounded by members of her hair and makeup team, all of them attempting to adjust her hair and makeup so she would look more presentable in front of the cameras after the flight.

Then they were sent out to face the press.

Mary tried her best to remain calm and professional as she moved slowly along the line of journalists and photographers just outside the main airport doors, telling herself that she would only have to do this for a few minutes, and then she would be escorted to the waiting cars nearby.

Francis also moved along the line, switching seamlessly from French to English to Italian, depending on the nationality of the journalist asking the question. Mary could already tell that he wasn't as nervous as she was about speaking to the press here.

Still, Mary tried her best to be diplomatic whenever she was asked any questions about French and Scottish politics, or any questions about her brother's upcoming wedding to Kenna. It felt strange in this moment, to be standing in her brother's place, to have the media focusing on her in the way that they had always focused on James.

Most of the journalists asked fairly standard questions, such as Mary's thoughts about her visit to France, and who had designed the outfit she was wearing, and whether she was looking forward to visiting Paris tomorrow. It was only when she got towards the end of the row of people that one journalist happened to mention 'the recent attack on the French castle' in a casual, off-hand way, like it was nothing.

At the mention of the attack, Mary jumped. Without thinking about it, she reached down and grabbed hold of Francis's hand, like she was unconsciously seeking out some sort of support. As their hands made contact, Mary noticed that Francis jumped, too, like he wasn't expecting her to reach for him, but then he seemed to relax, taking her hand in his.

Mary had to fight off a blush, feeling like an idiot for her reflex reaction, and for breaking royal protocol by grabbing hold of Francis's hand in public, surrounded by cameras, but she couldn't deny that there was something reassuring about the gesture. She kept hold of Francis's hand as she answered the journalists' final questions.

Finally, after they had spoken to all of the journalists, a couple of bodyguards began to lead Mary and Francis in the direction of the waiting cars.

As soon as Mary had taken her seat inside the royal car, she allowed herself a few moments to take a few deep breaths and breathe a couple of sighs of relief. She knew that she would have to get a hold of herself, and quickly-royals did not have the luxury of losing their composure, and the weekend would be full of many more cameras and journalists and awkward questions.

Almost immediately, Francis's phone began to ring. Soon, he was taking call after call as the car began its slow journey towards the French castle-some of the calls were from family members, while other calls seemed to be business calls relating to his royal duties.

Mary didn't really mind too much that Francis's attention was taken up by his phone calls. She had already prepared herself for the fact that Francis would have plenty of work waiting for him when he arrived in his home country. If she did decide to marry a future king, then she would have to accept the fact that they would both have many distractions in their lives.

Mary used the time to look out of the car window, taking in the sight of fields and forests and old country lanes as all of it passed by.

The French castle was situated over an hour's drive away from the capital city of Paris, and Mary suspected that this was more for security reasons than anything else-in the same way that Mary's mother preferred not to live right in the centre of Edinburgh-but she couldn't deny that the French countryside which surrounded the castle was beautiful. She just had to try not to think about the fact that she had once crept through these fields and forests, when she had been running away from the French castle with her brother the morning after the attack.

* * *

After what felt like a long time, and also no time at all, the car arrived at two large iron gates, which marked the first entrance to the castle. Slowly, the gates opened, and then the car was winding down the long driveway, through the grounds situated at the front of the castle and towards the main doors.

The castle looked almost exactly as Mary remembered it, with its high grey walls and Medieval style design. The front garden was neat and tidy, with several trees and flowers lining the paths.

As they got closer to the doors, Mary noticed that a large party seemed to have gathered outside on the front path to greet them. She felt yet another jolt of anxiety.

Finally, the car came to a halt.

"Are you ready?" Mary heard Francis whisper to her as the driver got out of the front seat to open the doors for them.

"No," Mary told him truthfully, "but let's go anyway."

With that, Mary was stepping out of the car, hoping that the waiting photographers wouldn't notice that her hands were shaking, and she took a few steps closer to the front doors.

Soon, Francis was standing beside her, and they were taking slow steps down the front path, stopping to greet several members of staff and friends of the French family along the way. Mary felt a little overwhelmed as various people bowed and curtsied and spoke to her in French, but she tried not to show this in her facial expression.

Francis introduced her to several members of staff and friends of his parents, and Mary noticed that he looked a lot more comfortable here he than he had looked back in Scotland.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Francis's father, the King of France, walking out of the front door and striding down the stone steps outside the castle. It seemed he had taken his time to come outside to greet her. Before Mary could look away, he caught sight of her staring him and glared at her, his facial expression full of loathing. Apparently, his feelings about the Scottish royal family hadn't changed.

Mary was distracted when Francis's mother, Catherine, walked towards her with open arms. The queen was beaming, looking for all intents and purposes like she was thrilled to see her. She still looked rather imposing, in spite of her grin, dressed in a black trouser suit and high heels, with expensive jewels draped over her neck and dangling from her ears, and her hair pulled up into a tight bun.

"Mary!" Catherine called out with another smile as she pulled a frowning Mary in for a hug.

The second she got closer however, she whispered in Mary's ear, "Smile, look happy, act like we're both _thrilled_ to be here together…"

Mary sighed and rolled her eyes. It seemed that Catherine hadn't changed, either. However, Mary played her part just as well as the queen did. As the two of them pulled apart, Mary smiled for the cameras along with Catherine, the two of them gripping each other's hands as they posed for photos, standing on the stairs leading up to the main doors.

In all of the pictures, Catherine would look like the sweet, doting mother who was delighted to be welcoming her potential daughter-in-law to France.

Mary was briefly grateful for the fact that she was smart enough to see through the act. She couldn't afford to let her guard down when she was around Catherine.

Before they could all head inside, Mary and Francis were asked to assemble on the front steps with the royal family, so that they could all give a few welcoming speeches to the cameras.

Francis stepped forward first, speaking in French to the small group of waiting journalists.

He stood tall, proud, speaking to the press without any hint of nerves in his voice. Mary knew that some day soon, he would be a king who his mother would be proud of. Would Mary really be here, at the French castle, in that imagined future, standing next to Francis as his queen?

Mary tried to concentrate on what Francis was actually saying: she picked up on a few phrases-he mentioned something about how no matter what happened, he hoped to improve relations between France and Scotland, and how he hoped that their countries could work together as allies, going into the future together as friends, rather than enemies.

She couldn't help smirking to herself as she noticed that Francis's father did not look impressed by his son's words.

Then it was Mary's turn to speak. She took a few deep breaths, stepped forward and spoke her opening lines in French, thanking the French royals for their 'hospitality' and the 'warm welcome' (she tried not to sound too sarcastic or roll her eyes in Catherine's direction as she spoke).

Narcisse had advised her to keep her head held high, to look proud and brave, so that people would take her seriously. She could only hope that she looked that way now. She also hoped that her people would see the Scottish ring around her neck, which she had taken care to ensure was visible as she stepped forward to give her speech.

Mary decided to echo a few of Francis's words. She spoke about how she too hoped that relations between the two countries could improve, and how she wished for Scotland to work together with countries like France.

At the very least, people seemed to be listening to her-their expressions were serious as they took notes and recorded what she was saying.

Now that she had everybody's full attention, she couldn't resist adding a few comments about how she hoped that all the people of Scotland and France would feel like they were truly helped and understood by the royals, and how she hoped to do more to assist those who felt like they were not being heard.

She knew she was taking a risk, making a comment that could be interpreted in so many different ways, but she felt like she needed to make some sort of appeal to those who were thinking about rebelling against the crown, to try in some way to let them know that there were other ways of communicating their unhappiness, without resorting to violence.

It was almost worth it, just to see the look of distaste on the face of the King of France.

* * *

Finally, the speeches were over, and Mary and Francis were allowed to enter the castle.

For a few moments, the two of them stood around awkwardly in the castle's entrance hall; it was like they didn't know how to act or what say to each other now that they were no longer surrounded by journalists.

Francis even shuffled around on his feet and ran a hand through his hair.

For the first time, it occurred to Mary that Francis felt nervous whenever he was around her. She wasn't sure why this would be the case, as she had never had the ability to intimidate people in the way that James and Kenna could when they wanted to, but lately, the evidence seemed to be pointing that way when it came to Francis's behaviour around her. In a strange way, Mary liked this theory better than her previous belief that Francis hated her.

"Perhaps the princess would like a tour of the castle?" A friendly-sounding voice broke the awkward silence.

Mary looked over her shoulder and she recognised the woman who worked on the French royal family's private jet as a member of the cabin crew.

She smiled at the two of them, a fond expression on her face, and Mary knew that she was trying to help the two of them out, with no hidden agenda. Perhaps she had teenage children of her own, and therefore understood what they were both going through.

"Yes, Mary, would you like to see the castle?" said Francis. He looked like he was trying to regain his composure, or take back control of the situation.

Struggling to hide a smirk, Mary nodded in agreement. There was something endearing about seeing Francis look so nervous.

As Francis led her up and down various high-ceilinged corridors, Mary felt a strange sense of Deja-vu. All of the halls in the castle were familiar, and she could almost imagine that she and Francis had run up and down these same corridors as children, the two of them laughing together, happy.

Mary felt like the imaginary door in her mind that seemed to be guarding so many repressed memories was slowly starting to unlock, now that she was back in a place where she had spent so much time during her childhood.

Francis seemed to have found his voice over the past few minutes-he talked enthusiastically about all of the royal portraits of his ancestors that were displayed on the walls, and he went into detail about all of the royal artefacts and the antiques in various rooms of the castle.

Mary could tell that Francis was genuinely passionate about his royal heritage, his history and the day-to-day life in the French castle. As Francis pointed out the throne room and explained about a few of the royal ceremonies that had taken place in that room, it seemed to Mary that Francis was certain about his future as a king. Mary could only wish that she could be so certain about her own future.

Francis was talking so much now that Mary could almost forget that they were still being followed by the television crew. Still, she cast nervous glances about the castle every now and again-she was half-expecting Olivia to appear from around a corner.

There was only a moment of awkward silence when they passed the ballroom where the attack had taken place two years ago.

Mary felt her heart start to beat faster. She wasn't sure if she was ready to visit that place just yet. Luckily, Francis didn't say anything about that night. Silently, he led her past the ballroom door and on to another part of the castle.

Mary's mood picked up when Francis showed her the castle's main library. She had to stop herself from jumping up and down in excitement as she took in the numerous shelves stacked high with classic novels and history books. She knew that she could spend hours here, reading through all the old volumes.

"Do you like it?" Francis asked her with a grin.

"I like it very much," Mary told him truthfully.

It took a while for Francis to persuade her to leave the library to look at another room.

It was clear to Mary that the lifestyle in this castle was different to life in the Scottish castle. Everything was more elaborate-from the golden statues in the corridors to the dresses of the ladies who walked past them, and even the gestures that people shared, like the way that people greeted each other with two kisses on the cheek, or the way that the men kissed the hands of the ladies they were talking to before they walked away to speak to somebody else.

People conversed rapidly in a mixture of French, English and Italian, and it seemed to Mary like everybody was constantly talking about the next big event, or like there was always gossip to be shared. Mary only hoped that she and Francis weren't the subjects of current gossip in the castle.

As they walked through the drawing room, Mary couldn't help noticing that a few younger women threw envious-looking glares in her direction as she passed. Even if Olivia wasn't here, it seemed that Mary had competition for the prince's heart.

* * *

After Francis had shown her around the castle, the two of them were allowed a brief break for drinks and snacks. They ate in a small dining room with a few members of staff and friends of the royal family. There was not much more than a long wooden table in the room, but it looked cozy, at least, and Mary suspected that members of staff had thought it would be less intimidating for her to eat in the private dining room at first.

Francis didn't talk to her too much, and he was often distracted by other people in the room, who constantly asked him questions about his time in Scotland, but at the very least, the silence between them was more comfortable now.

All too quickly, Francis was summoned to a meeting that was to take place in one of the official meeting rooms with his father, and Francis's Publicity Team invited Mary to sit and observe the meeting. Mary nodded in agreement-these were the official royal duties that her mother had wanted her to see, after all.

Almost immediately, Mary noticed that there was an air of tension in the meeting room. The king sat with a frown on his face as he observed the gathered politicians, and as the meeting went on, he became angrier and louder, even banging his fist on the table at one point as he tried to overrule the politicians' new tax proposals.

Sitting in a corner of the room, Mary shuddered at the sound of the king's fist hitting the table. She dreaded the idea of living full-time in this castle while Henry was in charge.

On the other hand, Francis was polite to everyone in the room, never resorting to anger or rudeness in the way that his father did.

Mary even heard him whisper, "Father…" in a firm tone of voice, his expression stern, whenever the king started to get aggressive. The expression on Francis's face was tense, but it seemed he wasn't taking his tension out on the guests in the meeting room.

* * *

When the meeting was (finally) over, Mary and Francis were shown into the Throne Room, where they had apparently been scheduled to greet a few visitors to the castle.

Mary stood next to Francis in the middle of the room, trying not to feel overwhelmed as members of the public spoke to the two of them, and Mary was expected to say all the right things and bow and curtsey in all the right places while the cameras continued to film. It was always left to James to greet visitors to the Scottish castle, but Mary knew that this sort of thing would be expected of her, if she did decided to marry the future king of France, and so she would have to get into practice.

Again, Francis's behaviour was something of a revelation to Mary. He smiled at all of his subjects as he greeted them, easily making small talk with everybody in the room, and even abandoning royal protocol at times so that he could shake people's hands or pat them affectionately on the shoulder.

Whenever children were shown into the room, Francis knelt down to talk to them at their level, keeping his voice calm and gentle. Children seemed to be at ease around him, and Mary suspected that Francis had had plenty of practice being around children by taking care of his brothers.

As she observed everything that was going on in the Throne Room, Mary was struck by the idea that perhaps Francis was not cold or distant or stern after all. Here, in his home, surrounded by the people he knew, Francis was kind, and calm and generous.

Maybe Mary had been wrong about him all along.

Francis's smile was even brighter after he had finished his meet-and-greet with his subjects and his mother walked into the room with Francis's two younger brothers.

"Francis!" both boys called out from the doorway.

"Charles! Henri!" Francis called out in return, the moment he spotted them. He held out his arms, and the two boys ran towards their big brother, who pulled them in for a hug.

Mary heard him whisper to the two of them in French about how much he had missed them. Even she had to admit that the scene was heart-warming.

Francis whispered something else to Charles and Henri, and then they were shuffling over to Mary, both of them looking a little shy.

"Bonjour," Mary greeted them with a smile, trying to ease their nerves.

Both boys bowed to her and then greeted her in a mix of English and French. It seemed that they were well practised in their royal duties, in spite of their shyness.

"Perhaps the boys would appreciate a walk outside?" Mary heard Catherine mutter to Francis.

* * *

And so, less than ten minutes later, Mary found herself outside in the castle's grounds, walking next to Francis and his younger brothers.

Henri seemed to be the quieter of the two, as he stayed close to Francis, holding his older brother's hand as they walked. Charles was the more confident one, and he often ran ahead of them, before he ran back, speaking in mix of hurried English and French as he tried to catch Francis up with everything that had happened in the castle in his absence.

When Charles started to tell Francis about his 'new girlfriend' Mary noticed the frown that crossed Francis's face.

Mary struggled to hide her grin-Mary recognised an over-protective older brother when she saw one after her years growing up with James.

"You are too young to have a girlfriend," Francis told his brother, his tone of voice firmer now.

In response, Charles folded his arms and stamped his foot. " _You_ had a girlfriend when you were my age!" he snapped at his brother in French. "Everybody says so!"

For some reason, Francis blushed at these words.

Mary frowned. She couldn't remember Francis ever having a 'girlfriend' during his childhood. She wondered who Charles was talking about.

"Go and play a game with your brother," Francis told Charles, before Charles could embarrass him any further.

With a sigh, Charles ran ahead of them again towards the nearest trees. After a couple of minutes, Henri let go of Francis's hand and ran after Charles.

Mary realised that she and Francis were now alone, except for the camera crew, who were thankfully keeping their distance from them in the grounds.

The two of them walked side-by-side for a little while. Mary took the opportunity to get a good look around at the gardens. If anything, these gardens around the back of the castle were even more beautiful than the gardens around the front. There was a large fountain right in the middle of the main garden, and trees and bushes lining the paths. The trees grew taller and thicker on one side of the gardens, and Mary already knew that they led into a small forest. As she thought about the forest, she felt yet another prickle of Deja-vu.

Francis walked with his head held high and his hands clasped behind his back. Every few seconds, he glanced in the direction of the trees where Henri and Charles were playing their game, keeping a close eye on his brothers. A fond smile seemed to cross his face whenever the boys waved to him.

Mary couldn't help smiling as she watched him.

"Is everything all right?" Francis suddenly asked her.

Mary blushed. It seemed that Francis had noticed her smiling.

"It's very sweet, that you and your brothers are so close," said Mary, deciding to just be honest about what she was thinking.

Francis seemed to watch her for a little while before he responded. Mary wasn't sure if her words had been lost in translation, or if he thought that she was mocking him.

Finally, Francis grinned a little, and then he spoke: "I've always enjoyed spending time with them, away from the castle," he told her, "giving them a break from royal duties. If I have children of my own one day, I'd hope to give them something of a normal life, too."

Francis's answer surprised Mary. "Do you think about having children of your own?" she asked him, genuinely intrigued.

Francis hesitated. Mary realised that she'd just asked him a rather personal question, given their royal status. She was just about to tell him that he didn't have to answer when Francis started talking again…

"Yes," he said with a smile. "A boy and a girl. I think about how my wife and I could spend time with them as a family. Maybe we could take them on holidays to Paris, or to other places around the world, or spend Sunday afternoons out here in the grounds…" He blushed a little and went quiet, as though he had said too much.

Mary could relate to his embarrassment-she had been warned since childhood that she should not talk too much to others about her own personal thoughts and dreams; it was not fitting of her status as a royal. Royals were not supposed to long for their own personal happiness.

For Mary, Francis's dream of having children was yet another surprise revelation. Francis didn't talk about children as though they were merely necessary heirs to a throne; a means of carrying on a blood line-he seemed to genuinely want a family of his own.

They walked on in silence for a little, with Charles and Henri occasionally running around them before they ran back towards the trees.

The sun was starting to set, and the grounds looked even more beautiful, but Mary was lost in her own thoughts. The loss of a 'normal' family life had always been something that had put her off from the idea of marrying a royal. And yet Francis actually wanted that family life, with a wife and children and holidays in Paris. But did he want all of that with _her_?

* * *

By the time Mary sat down with the French royal family for the evening meal, she felt slightly more relaxed than she'd thought she would be. She was not even intimidated by the fact that they were now dining in the larger dining room, under the watchful eyes of the king and queen, while they were waited on by many members of staff.

Mary concentrated on using all of the correct knives and forks to eat her meal with, and she tried to ignore the fact that Catherine seemed to throw constant glares in her direction from over her glass of wine. The queen then excused herself from the room before dessert was served, and Mary had no idea where she was going.

Before she could think too much more about Catherine, Mary was distracted by a few other members of the extended family at neighbouring tables, who leaned over to ask her questions about the matchmaking show and her life in Scotland. They talked about the show as though it was nothing but light entertainment, even though it had never felt like that to Mary.

After dinner, it was announced that filming had finished for the day, and Mary was told that she could head to the room where she would be staying tonight.

Just before she left the dining room, Francis moved to stand opposite her. "I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll go to Paris," he told her. His words sounded like promises.

Then, quickly, he gently took hold of her hand and kissed it. He looked a little embarrassed by the gesture, as though he'd done it without thinking; as though they'd once been more affectionate with one another like this and he'd momentarily forgotten all the years of tension that had since passed between them. With a quick bow, Francis let go of her hand and exited the room.

Mary tried to get her feelings back under control, telling herself that it was probably completely normal to kiss people's hands in European courts, and that maybe Francis acted this way around plenty of other girls, but still, she couldn't help grinning to herself as she headed up the stairs. She felt the same way that she had once felt back in the village near the Scottish castle, before the matchmaking show had started, when she'd walked past Bash and he'd grinned and winked at her. Back then, she never would have imagined that Francis Valois would have the power to make her feel the same way.

* * *

Mary's happy thoughts lasted for all of five minutes, up until she heard the unmistakable sound of Catherine's voice, coming from a room at the end of a second-floor corridor.

"My dear, there's still time…" Mary heard Catherine mutter. "My sources tell me things aren't going smoothly with the marriage negotiations. His head can still be turned…"

Mary stopped in her tracks. She frowned, trying to work out what this discussion was about. Trying to be as quiet as possible, Mary crept towards the door so she could hear better.

"I'm _sure_ Francis still has feelings for you," Mary heard Catherine whisper.

"I'm not so sure," she then heard a voice with a strong French accent that sounded very familiar respond to Catherine's words.

Taking a risk, Mary leaned her head around the door so she could peek into the room and confirm who Catherine was talking to.

Catherine was standing over on the other side of the room with her back to Mary, leaning over a large antique desk. On the desk stood a laptop computer, and Mary was disappointed but not surprised to see Olivia's face on the screen. It seemed she was on some sort of video call with Catherine.

"Nonsense," said Catherine dismissively with a wave of her hand, "a little scheming on my part, and a little effort on your part, and you could still be the Queen of France…"

Mary felt a twist of anger. She was sick of this. Sick of all the scheming and the politics. Sick of people trying to pull the strings in her life and sabotage her every move.

She was also struck by the very confusing and very frightening thought that Francis could _not_ marry Olivia. Mary didn't know _why_ exactly, but she could not allow it. Suddenly, she didn't like the thought of Francis marrying _any_ other woman, even though she didn't know where all of this was coming from. Perhaps she was just overwhelmed, and exhausted.

In a move that was either very brave or very stupid, Mary stepped right into the room. She leaned against the nearest wall and folded her arms. She glared right at Catherine's back, taking a twisted pleasure in the thought of Catherine turning around and seeing her standing there.

Then, Olivia said something that confused Mary even more…

"The morning after the attack, it was not me he called out for…"

Mary didn't have much time to ponder these strange words of Olivia's, because Catherine suddenly slammed the laptop shut, effectively cutting off Olivia's phone call, and then she turned around and looked right at Mary.

Apparently, she had sensed Mary's presence in the room all along. She had probably _wanted_ Mary to hear what she had said to Olivia.

Mary tried her hardest to hold her nerve and meet Catherine with an equal glare. Catherine was trying to intimidate her, and Mary knew she couldn't back down now.

"Oh, it's you," said Catherine in a sarcastic tone of voice that reminded Mary a little of Kenna. She sneered at Mary as she looked her up and down in obvious disapproval.

Mary tried to match her cold stare, while also trying not to look too afraid at being caught eavesdropping. "Why do you hate me so much?" she asked the queen as she shook her head in disgust.

Catherine sneered. "My dear Mary," she said in a patronising tone of voice, "this is not about love, or hate, or relationships. Surely even you know that."

Mary shook her head, trying to fight off her anger. "Then why are you _so_ against this alliance?" she asked, trying for a different angle. "Why would a match with Olivia be so much better?"

Catherine glared at her for a little while longer before she spoke. "A French noblewoman is a _far_ better option than a Scottish queen I cannot control. And especially a Scottish queen who sneaks around castles poking her nose into affairs that don't concern her, consorts with rebels and pretends to be falling in love with my son for the cameras while she meets with her _lover_ behind his back…"

Mary felt like her insides had frozen. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. There was no 'lover' in her life, but the way Catherine was looking at her-it was like she knew something; something she could use against her. Mary knew she had to say something to defend herself. Catherine was against the matchmaking show. She was conspiring to drive her away from Francis and to put Olivia in her place. She knew too much. Both Mary and her family could be at risk. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but probably failing. Her words came out more like a snarl.

"Oh, really?" said Catherine. She opened the desk drawer and pulled out what appeared to be a pile of photographs. She slammed the photos down on the nearest coffee table, where Mary could see them.

Mary looked at each photograph, her eyes widening in horror. There was a photograph of Mary and Bash at the pub in Edinburgh, dancing and laughing together. And another photo of the two of them outside the hotel on the night of Greer's wedding, standing close together. There was even a photo of them slow-dancing together at the ball on the evening of the opening ceremony of the matchmaking show.

Looking at the photos without context, they did indeed look like a young couple who were flirting with each other behind the prince's back. _Had_ they been doing that all along? Mary felt as though the wooden ring around her neck was actually burning her skin.

This was very bad. Catherine could use all of this against her. Publish the photos to the world's media, make it look as though Mary had been having some sort of secret fling all along. She could jeopardise the television show, ruin everything that Mary's parents had been working towards. Catherine was dangerous, and Mary wouldn't put anything past her.

"I can be sneaky, just like you!" Catherine snapped at her, fury in her voice. "I have my own ways of spying on this process! I will do whatever it takes to protect _my_ country, and its future king!"

At Mary absorbed these words, another horrible realisation hit her. It was like several pieces of a twisted jigsaw puzzle were suddenly sliding into place in her mind. Her thoughts were back in the alleyway, outside the hotel in Edinburgh late at night. _"You are being watched…"_ the voice told her.

"He is a boy with secrets," Catherine snarled at her, temporarily pulling Mary out of her latest thoughts. She looked like she was struggling to keep herself under control as she pointed at a picture of Bash. "An affair with him would be your ruin!"

"Like you care," Mary muttered, not even trying to keep the hatred out of her voice. Deep down, a part of her knew that Catherine had a point about Bash-he definitely had some big secret that Mary didn't know about-but now was not the time to reveal this weakness to Catherine.

"You and I, we are so alike," said Catherine with a sigh, surprising Mary all over again.

"I am _nothing_ like you," Mary insisted.

"Oh, you'll see," said Catherine, cryptically.

Feeling overwhelmed by everything, Mary turned around and started to head out the door.

"My husband may feel like this matchmaking show will be beneficial to France, but I disagree," Catherine whispered to her retreating back. "I will _not_ be humiliated by Scotland."

Mary stopped in her tracks. Slowly, she turned around. She felt no fear anymore, only anger. It was like some sort of dark force had overtaken her body. Perhaps the pressure had finally got to her.

She took a few steps towards Catherine. "I will do whatever _I_ have to do to guard _my own_ happiness, and I will _not_ allow you, or anyone else in this castle to humiliate _my_ country. If all of that means my own ruin, then so be it," Mary told Catherine, her voice unwavering, even as her eyes filled with tears.

"You foolish girl," Catherine muttered as she shook her head, which only caused Mary's anger to heighten.

"And if you _ever_ send any of your 'spies' to watch me or to threaten me in dark alleyways again," Mary told her, pausing for a moment to allow her words to truly sink in, "I will ensure that your actions are exposed to the whole of Scotland, and I promise you that you will face the consequences."

With that, she turned back around and walked out of the room, not allowing Catherine another moment to get into her head.

* * *

By the time Mary arrived in her assigned room for the night, she felt like her head was spinning. What had Catherine really meant, about Bash being a boy with secrets? Did she know what those secrets were? Was she really going to use those photos as some sort of blackmail material? Why had Mary not insisted that there was no truth to those images? Had Mary been foolish, threatening to expose Catherine like that? Where had all of that even come from? Weeks ago, she'd just been a second-born princess, hating her title and sneaking out to the local village to catch glimpses of the handsome men there. When had she become so patriotic? So determined to protect Scotland from defeat, no matter what?

She could barely take in the elegance of the luxurious room, with its large, four-poster bed with golden sheets, and the spacious living room with expensive-looking furniture, as her mind was on other matters. All over again, she felt threatened, vulnerable. She felt like she was still being watched, even in this private room. She knew she couldn't afford to make anymore mistakes. Not here.

Mary tried to distract herself by sending a few messages to her mother and brother to update them on the trip to France so far, deliberately leaving out her discussion with Catherine from her messages, and then she opened up her luggage that had already been brought up to her room in advance and changed into her pyjamas, trying not to think too much about all of her current problems as she got ready for bed.

For the next half an hour, Mary tossed and turned in the bed. She couldn't sleep; she couldn't even get comfortable. She kept thinking about everything that had happened recently-her mother's illness and her brother's upcoming wedding and how Kenna had sobbed that James didn't love her. Then she thought about her arrival in France, and how Catherine and Henry had looked at her with such hatred, and how she was going to be travelling to Paris tomorrow with Francis for what might be a date.

Eventually, with a sigh, she pushed the covers one side and got out of bed.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Mary found a pair of slippers in the wardrobe and slipped them onto her feet. She looked in her suitcase for something warm to wear over her pyjamas. She was only able to find an old cardigan, so she slipped it over her shoulders.

Then, Mary opened the bedroom door, slowly and carefully, hoping that nobody could hear it creak.

* * *

She stepped out into the corridor, deciding to take a walk around the castle for a little while, in the way that she always crept around the castle at night back in Scotland whenever she couldn't sleep. Her insomnia had definitely become more of an issue since the attack two years ago, but for the past few nights, she'd also been disturbed by images of masked figures warning her that she was being watched whenever she closed her eyes.

Mary crept up and down the dark corridors, not really going anywhere in particular or paying much attention to her surroundings. The whole castle was silent. It seemed that there were no secrets to be overheard just yet.

She was just thinking about turning around and heading back to her room when she noticed a large window overlooking the gardens below. A few comfortable-looking chairs had been placed just opposite the window.

With a yawn, Mary decided to sit down and rest, just for a few moments, and maybe take in the view from the window as she tried to gather her thoughts.

Slowly, she sat down, and then she stared at her reflection in the glass of the window for a little while.

Mary was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear anyone approach. It was therefore something of a shock when she heard Francis's voice…

"Mary?" he said, sounding very confused.

Mary jumped and looked to her left to see Francis, dressed only in black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, with his hair looking ruffled and a sleepy expression on his face.

"Francis," said Mary, shocked. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do or say. She couldn't get over the fact that the future king of France was standing in front of her, wearing his pyjamas. Then she realised that _she_ was also only wearing pyjamas, and Francis was looking right at her. Mary had to fight off a blush.

"You couldn't sleep?" Francis asked her, his tone of voice sounding soft, concerned.

Slowly, Mary shook her head.

"Me neither," he shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.

"Just tonight, or often?" Mary took a chance on asking him, even though she wasn't sure if that was too personal a question to ask. She couldn't help thinking that Francis wandered these corridors a lot at night, unable to sleep. She never would have believed it, until this moment when she'd seen it for herself.

Luckily, Francis didn't seem to be offended. He simply said, "Often, Mary," in response to her question as he brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "I'll leave you alone," he added with a polite bow.

"No, wait!" Mary called out to him in a loud whisper, surprising even herself. "You can sit here, if you wish," she added, when Francis turned back around and raised his eyebrows at her.

Mary had a feeling that this was the place where Francis usually headed when he was struggling to sleep, and it seemed wrong not to let him sit here tonight.

"I wouldn't want to throw you out of your usual seat," she offered as a way of an explanation.

Still looking a little surprised, and dubious, Francis took a seat next to her.

They sat in silence for a little while, both of them staring out of the window. Mary thought about how her mother would probably be angry that she had abandoned all royal protocol to sit next to a future king while the two of them wore pyjamas. She would almost have laughed about it, in other circumstances.

In the end, Francis broke the silence: "Mary, if I ask you something, will you answer honestly?"

Feeling a little nervous, Mary turned to look at him. There was a look of vulnerability on his face that Mary had not noticed before.

"I'll try," she told him, deciding that this was about as honest an answer as she could give him. She was already dreading all the possible questions he could ask her. She had too many secrets.

Francis seemed satisfied with this answer. He nodded before he continued: "Are you struggling to sleep because it's your first night in France? Or is this a recurring problem?"

Mary breathed a sigh of relief. It was not as bad a question as she had thought it would be, and there was genuine concern in Francis's eyes. Still, her answer would carry weight…

"I have struggled for a long time," she said, "but it got worse two years ago, after…"

She felt her whole body tense up again as she remembered that terrible night two years ago.

Luckily, Francis simply nodded, and he didn't push her further. There was understanding in his eyes as he looked at her, then he looked away, like he'd only just realised he was staring.

"You can ask me something now, if you want," Francis told her with a smile. "Anything you want."

Mary watched him in surprise for a little while. She was still getting used to Francis smiling and joking around and being affectionate with her. She would never have imagined that he would have been like this, before she arrived in his home country.

Then Mary remembered that he was offering her another question, in exchange for answering his, as part of the agreement they'd made on the private jet to try to be more honest with one another.

"I have already asked you several questions today," Mary told him seriously. "If you answer anymore, I will be in your debt." She'd meant it as a joke, but she shuddered as she thought about how close to home a comment like that was-she was already fairly certain that Scotland was in some kind of debt to France.

Francis seemed to notice the troubled look on her face. "Perhaps we should agree not to keep count, then?" he suggested with another smile.

In spite of all her turbulent thoughts, Mary couldn't help smiling back.

She nodded and paused for a moment to think about what she wanted to ask…

Another question for Francis, one that he had promised to give an honest answer to. The possibilities were endless. She could practically hear the bossy voices of her mother and Kenna and Lola in her head, urging her to take advantage of this opportunity. But then one particular nagging question came into her mind, and she couldn't let it go…

"Why do you not dance with me, at balls or at parties in the castle?" Mary asked him. She felt a bit silly for asking something like that, and she knew that her friends would tell her she had wasted her opportunity, but she couldn't help thinking about the ball, and how Francis had danced with Lola for most of the night, and how he hadn't asked _her_ to dance.

Francis's eyes widened, and Mary could tell that he was surprised by her choice of question.

"I was always under the impression that you wouldn't want to dance with me," he answered her with a very un-prince-like-shrug, which Mary thought was sort of cute.

"But you'll never know, unless you ask," Mary told him, surprising herself with her boldness.

"I'll bear that in mind," said Francis, with another smile.

After that, they fell back into silence for a little while, until Francis's expression grew serious again. Mary studied his face-it looked like there was so much pain hidden just underneath the surface.

"Mary," he muttered, "I know you hate it when I try to give you advice, but we've promised to be honest with each other, and I think you should know-my father is not treating this matchmaking show as light entertainment; he has reasons and motivations for pushing for this alliance; he has found out secrets about your family that he could hold against you…"

Mary felt a pain in her chest that she was sure matched the look of pain on Francis's face. What did the king know about her family? Had he used some sort of threat or blackmail against Mary's parents? It was bad enough that Catherine already had blackmail material against Mary.

"He would be furious if he knew I'd told you this, but I believe you deserve to know, so you can make an informed decision," Francis continued. "If you're serious about continuing with this show, I think you should try to find out exactly what he knows…"

After a long, heavy silence, Mary nodded. As painful as the news was to hear, she knew that Francis was trying to give her a warning; he was trying to protect her, and putting himself at risk by doing so.

She stared out the window, looking up at the moon which shone brightly in the sky.

Finally, she reached a decision. Before she headed to Paris in the morning, she was going to have to find out what the king was up to...


	14. Chapter 14

Mary's room in the French castle might have been luxurious, but she struggled to sleep on the first night of her stay.

As she tossed and turned in her bed, she kept thinking about all the recent events that had taken place-her conversation with Francis in the middle of the night, her argument with Catherine, the overheard conversation with Olivia...

Then, just when she started to drift off, she continued to worry about all the upcoming events that she would soon have to face-her inevitable confrontation with the king, her visit to Paris with Francis…

She also couldn't help thinking about her home in Scotland and all the problems that would be waiting for her there-James and Kenna's wedding, her mother's illness, Narcisse's possible plotting…

* * *

It was no surprise to Mary that she felt a little groggy at breakfast the next morning. She tried her best to smile over at Francis whenever she caught his eye, as he seemed to be full of enthusiasm about the day ahead and the visit to Paris, but still she couldn't help sighing to herself in between bites of her croissant.

It didn't help matters when she noticed the king swaggering into the dining room, an unpleasant glint in his eye as he looked rather pleased with himself about something.

Mary felt her whole body tense up when he walked in her direction and he stopped right behind her seat.

"Nice work," he told her in a deadly whisper as soon as he was stood close enough for her to hear him.

Mary could tell from his sarcastic tone of voice that he was mocking her.

Discreetly, he placed a folded-up piece of paper on the table in front of her.

As he walked away with a smirk on his face, Mary opened up the piece of paper. It was some sort of online news article, which the king had taken the 'trouble' of printing out. There was a picture of Mary that had been taken yesterday, when she'd just arrived at the castle and she'd been giving a speech on the castle steps.

_The Speech of a Rebel?_ the headline asked its readers.

Mary sighed. It seemed like the words of her speech yesterday had already been misinterpreted.

The king didn't stay in the dining room for long. As he left the room, Mary glared at his retreating back, feeling a rush of fury as she scrunched up the piece of paper in her hand.

In that moment, Mary made a decision. She would have to find out what he was up to. Now, before she left for Paris.

She spoke briefly with Francis, promising him that she would meet him in a couple of hours at the allotted time and place so they could make the journey to Paris, then she headed out of the dining room alone.

* * *

Mary stormed across the castle's entrance hall, barely containing her fury.

She was so sick of the way the king spoke to her and looked down on her. She couldn't stand the thought that he was manipulating her mother, her country.

She could barely think straight, but her memory seemed to guide her through the corridors and in the direction of the king's office.

* * *

Finally, Mary arrived outside the king's door. Without knocking or waiting, she threw the door open and took determined strides into the room.

The king was sitting at his desk, surrounded by a group of men who were wearing formal suits. It seemed like he'd been having some sort of meeting. He jumped as the door crashed open and he looked up at Mary with a look of mingled horror and fury.

Mary didn't care. " _How_ did you manipulate my family into this matchmaking show?" she demanded of him.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" he snarled at her. "Get out, I'm in the middle of a meeting!" he waved his hand, like she was of no consequence to him.

The men in the room all watched her with curious expressions. Perhaps they were not used to hearing young women scream at their king.

One man in particular seemed to be watching her with what seemed like a look of fascination. Mary couldn't help noticing that he was rather handsome, with short, dark brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard and dark brown eyes.

"Well," Mary snarled back at Henry as she focused her full attention on him again. She was determined that he would not throw her out of the room. "Perhaps your colleagues would like to stay and hear all about how you have lied, threatened and blackmailed _my_ country and my family into taking part in a television show and an arranged marriage…"

The king looked livid, and Mary knew that she was playing a dangerous game. Her words and accusations would have consequences. It was not just her own safety at stake, but her whole family's. But she didn't have many cards left to play, and she was fast running out of options for discovering the truth.

The king sneered at her, but there was a brief flicker of fear in his eyes. It seemed that Mary had struck a nerve-it was unlikely that he would want any of these important-looking men to overhear any rumours about his wrongdoings. Perhaps they would be powerful enough to use the information against him.

"Conde," the king muttered in a low tone, nodding in the direction of the man who Mary had just been staring at, "leave us. I'll meet with you and your colleagues in half an hour…" It sounded like he could barely keep his voice under control.

With obedient nods, the men all started to head out of the room. Mary noticed that Conde looked back at her with a curious expression on his face as he left the room. Mary felt a little self-conscious. She wondered what was so interesting about her that it would cause him to take a risk by walking so slowly out of the office.

"How dare you!" the king repeated, the moment the men had gone. "You know I could have you thrown in jail on the evidence of your past behaviour alone, and still you continue to provoke me. That's right," he continued with a snarl, apparently picking up on the look of horror on Mary's face. "You were there the night of the attack, we all know it. Dancing in the middle of the dance floor, hands risen in the gesture of the rebels, no less. Sharing a few grins with Narcisse as an added bonus, who was later questioned about the attack…It would be all too easy to build up a case against you…"

_Ignore him. Ignore him_ Mary chanted silently to herself. _He's bluffing. Don't give him the reaction he wants…_ Even as she said these words to herself, a part of her didn't believe them. She knew what the king was capable of. No doubt the king had planted these thoughts in Queen Marie's head, too, as yet another 'bargaining tool'.

"Tell me what dirt you have on Scotland," Mary commanded him.

"Or what, little girl?" he spat back at her. "What could you _possibly_ do that would be of _any_ threat to me?"

Mary's hands were shaking, but she tried to keep her voice level. "I will withdraw from this show, this matchmaking process," she told him.

The king sneered. "And how would you do that? Your parents wouldn't allow it."

He was goading her now, Mary knew it. Calling her a coward, telling her she had no real power, to see how easily she would back down.

Silently, Mary went over her options. She could threaten to run away, like she had told her mother that she would do, but there was always the possibility that the royal families would find her and order her back to the castle, and force her to continue with the show.

When she really thought about it, the only way she could truly escape from the show would be to marry somebody else…

"I will marry Sebastian," Mary told the king with a sneer, keeping her own voice low, deadly. She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of using this threat against Henry and Catherine before.

"Sebastian, who you shared a dance with at the opening ball?" said the king with a mocking smirk. "You really expect me to believe that the two of you are planning to be wed?"

Suddenly, an idea struck Mary. It seemed that the gift Bash had given her before she left Scotland would come in useful after all, although perhaps not in the way that Bash would have planned. Making sure to keep her head held high and maintain eye contact with the king, Mary pulled out the black ribbon from under the collar of her shirt. She held up the wooden ring to the king.

The king's eyes widened as he stared at the ring. There was a fleeting look of recognition on his face, and Mary wondered what is was about the ring that had unnerved him.

"An arrangement has already been made," said Mary, trying her best to sound convincing. "Bash has already given me this ring. If I am not satisfied that you are co-operating with Scotland, Bash and I could be away from the Scottish castle in a matter of hours. I know Scotland much better than you do," Mary insisted, before the king could cut her off with what would probably be another threat, "you would never find me in time. And then Bash and I would be married, in secret, and you would lose your family's claim to the Scottish throne..."

Mary knew that there was a cruelty to all this, in threatening to marry Bash and defy the royal family, especially after Francis had been so kind to her lately, but still Mary felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at being able to blackmail the king, in taking back some sort of control over the situation.

"You can ask your wife for further evidence of the match, if you wish, if you do not believe that there is a possibility of us getting married," Mary added, just to twist the knife further, "it seems she has some rather incriminating photos of Bash and I together…"

A part of her felt a twisted pleasure at the idea of being able to use Catherine's blackmail material against her. But then she felt another unpleasant twist in her stomach as she recalled Catherine's words from last night…

" _You and I, we are so alike…"_ Catherine had told her.

The king's look was positively murderous. Mary suspected he might only be seconds away from upturning the table or throwing things around the room, and yet she felt no fear. All she could feel was anger.

"You're a fool," said Henry, as he jumped up from his chair and gripped the end of his desk. "You would really throw away your country's chance of security, your family's chance of protection, for the sake of marrying a commoner with no fortune?"

'I will do whatever it takes to protect my country!" said Mary, as she slammed her fist down on the desk. "If that means forcibly removing Scotland from France's influence, then so be it!"

Mary almost shocked herself at her own words. She didn't know where this anger, or this fierce sense of pride and patriotism had come from. Normally, it was James who embodied all these values. She wasn't sure what had changed, or when _she_ had changed.

"I will not continue with this process until France's true intentions are laid out on the table. You might all be angry by a marriage with Bash, but what could be done after the event has taken place? It would be too late. So, I'm asking you again," she said, "how did you bully my country into this royal match?"

The king sighed and sat back down in his seat. The look he gave Mary was one of pure hatred. "Your country is in a lot of debt," he finally told her with a sneer. Apparently, he was not prepared to take a risk on Mary marrying Bash. "It seems the Scottish royals have little money left in their funds, and your mother is feuding with the Scottish government; they need money from somewhere-"

"Scotland will have a source of income from England," Mary insisted, as she tried to think on her feet. "Kenna is from a powerful English family, and when James and Kenna are married, they will form a strong alliance between England and Scotland-"

"Ah," said the king with a mocking sigh, "it seems the situation is more complicated than you realise. Has your mother not told you the truth about your brother?"

Mary frowned, and the king smirked.

"Your brother has debts and diplomatic issues of his own. It seems he has turned to various addictions to cope with the pressures of training to rule a country. His gambling debts are particularly high. You see, he often came to France to indulge in his vices. He must have believed that he would be safely hidden away from Scottish eyes over here. But nobody can hide from _me_ in this country…"

"No," Mary whispered, shaking her head. It could not be true. Not James…James, who was so noble, so well-behaved; James who always followed the rules; James who was going to be king; James who always put his duty before his own happiness…"

"Yes," said the king, his tone of voice firm, that glint of malice back in his eyes.

He was enjoying this, Mary realised. He must have known how much she'd idolised her older brother when they were children. And now he was taking a twisted pleasure in tearing him down, shattering all of Mary's illusions. "He had a whole string of lovers over here, too, you know; he left a trail of broken-hearted women in his wake. Your friend Kenna is foolish if she _ever_ believed he would be faithful to her."

"No," Mary repeated, like the word could make all of this go away.

Deep down, she suspected that the king was telling the truth. She had never found out where James had been, on the night of the attack-he had always refused to tell her. But he had been out of bed, dressed smartly, sneaking around just like her that night. He must have been out _somewhere_ when he received the call from Catherine about the attack-perhaps out drinking and gambling.

James had always been rather vague and mysterious about where he was travelling to over the years-Mary had assumed that he had gone to France so often on royal duty, but it seemed she had been mistaken. When she thought about it, James told her very little about his life outside the Scottish castle.

"Rumour has it," the king continued with a nasty smirk, "that not too long ago, he _begged_ your mother to remove him from the line of succession. He didn't want the job as king, Mary," the king went on, speaking slowly, like Mary was an idiot, as Mary continued to shake her head, in denial. "But perhaps your mother decided that there was no…viable alternative." He looked at Mary in disgust. "Either way, he was forced to continue with the role, and to enter into an arranged marriage to smooth things over. Do you have any idea how much information I could use against him? How _weak_ he will look as king?"

Mary's hands were shaking. Her heart was beating fast, and tears were threatening to spill over. She couldn't process all this-had James really begged their mother not to be king? Did he not want the role? Had her mother forced James to remain in the role, against his wishes?

She also couldn't help feeling a little hurt, and disappointed. Why had James not confided in her about all his doubts and his worries? Perhaps she could have helped him, or at least been there for her brother during his most difficult times. Did he not trust her? Why had her mother never told her about any of this? Did her family truly believe that Mary would not have been a 'viable alternative' as queen, in the same way that the King of France seemed to believe it? Mary wasn't even sure why this thought hurt her so much, but it did.

But she couldn't break down-not here, not now. The king almost had her in checkmate, but still she had to stay in the game somehow. For some strange reason, she thought of Narcisse. Narcisse would want her to keep playing, no matter what, even if she had to cheat a little.

"I will not let you get to Scotland through my brother," she said, lifting her gaze from the floor, "I will ensure that England helps to pay James's debts; I will also advise Kenna that she is _not_ to allow any of her future children to enter into marriage contracts with your youngest sons," she added, as another part of the king's plan suddenly came together in her mind. "I could even appoint Narcisse as _their_ advisor, if it becomes necessary," she added with a glare. "He will dig up dirt on _you_ long before you get to James!"

Mary could only hope that her threats were believable; that they would carry some weight with the king. The king obviously had plenty of secrets of his own to hide, after all. Mary knew that she would not be above exposing several of his affairs, if it became necessary, and Narcisse, who had a grudge to settle with the king on behalf of his son, would be all too happy to help.

The king seemed to be considering her. Mary couldn't work out if he saw her as a genuine threat just yet.

"You need Scotland," Mary prompted him.

"I _want_ Scotland," he corrected her. "There is a difference. Scotland _needs_ France."

_I will ensure that we don't need you…_ Mary said to herself.

"You want the power that ruling another country would bring," Mary guessed. Deep down, she had known this all along. The king wanted Scotland for his own family, and he was prepared to go to any lengths to get it.

The king simply nodded.

"You blackmailed my parents with your knowledge of my whereabouts on the night of the attack, and my brother's debts," she added, as she put all the pieces together.

Again, the king nodded. He actually looked proud of himself.

"And you threw in the promise of extra money to seal the deal," said Mary.

"Don't forget the promise of extra security," the king cut in. "In case you haven't noticed, your country faces the threat of an attack on a daily basis. It is only a matter of time before a serious incident happens…"

Mary felt a cold chill rush through her body. She could only hope that he wasn't speaking the truth.

"I'm not sure I approve of your 'security methods'," said Mary.

"Your opinions on how I run my country are nothing to me," said Henry. "Your mother will certainly not disapprove when French security guards are protecting you all."

"My opinions _will_ mean something to you, if I prevent you from getting a foothold in Scotland," Mary shot back at him.

She could tell that he was considering her, trying to work out if she really did have any power to stop him.

"You're planning on using Francis and I, and James and Kenna, as your puppets, aren't you?" Mary demanded of him with folded arms.

The king said nothing. Of course, he would not admit to this. He could not fully incriminate himself.

"How could you _ever_ believe that Francis would go along with any of this?" Mary asked him in disbelief. She knew that Francis could be a little distant sometimes, but deep down, Mary knew that he was not cruel. He was not his father.

"Because," said the king, like he was talking to a five-year-old, "through this marriage, Francis will get everything he has ever wanted-everything he never thought he would have!"

"And what is that?" Mary snapped at him. A part of her was dreading that the king would say something about money, and extra power, and another country to rule over, one day-perhaps Francis was just as 'ambitious' as his father.

But nothing could have prepared Mary for the answer that the king gave…

"He will get to be married to the girl he loves!" the king snapped at her, his voice full of hatred, even as he talked about love. "It is a luxury that hardly any kings could boast of! How could he ever refuse? How would the marriage ever have happened, in other circumstances? Even the _possibility_ of seeing you again was enough to get him on that plane to Scotland!"

Mary felt like she had been frozen to the spot. She felt like all the air had been stolen from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. The room seemed to be spinning around.

What had the king just said?

It could not be true.

"F-Francis is not in love with me," Mary finally managed to stammer out.

It was impossible. Sometimes, it seemed like he didn't even _like_ her that much.

"Do you _really_ think I would make something like that up?" said Henry with a disgusted shake of his head. "Do you think I would _want_ it to be true? You have been _nothing_ but a burden to my country. Luckily for you, Francis's love for you has finally made you useful to me."

Mary shook her head again, unable to speak. She knew she should be angry, but she could barely focus. Of all the information she'd discovered over the past few minutes, this revelation had shocked her the most.

Surely Francis wasn't in love with her?

Before the show got started, Francis had barely looked at her for years. He'd had girlfriends, other close friendships…how could Mary have ever crossed his mind, during all those years they were apart?

How could it possibly be true?

But then, why would the king lie about his son's feelings? He had just made it very clear that he had never approved of how Francis felt.

Yet if it was true, then it meant that Francis had been in love with her all along, even before the show started. She felt like her whole world had tilted yet again.

And still the king continued to ask sarcastic questions about when she was planning on leaving his office, as though he hadn't just changed Mary's whole world with his revelation. It was almost like he assumed that Mary had already known this all along.

"Perhaps we can co-operate, somehow," Mary managed to get out through gritted teeth. " _If_ I decide to continue with this process. I will draw out a list of terms that I am prepared to negotiate with you and your family if you are to have any chance of making an alliance with Scotland-"

"Then I will do the same for you," the king interrupted her ."I will meet all of your demands with demands of my own, and I have been playing this game for a lot longer than you have, _Your Majesty._ I am warning you, one of my terms of 'negotiation' will involve you sacking your Publicist."

Deciding not to get into that debate right now, Mary turned to leave.

She had all the information she needed. It was up to her now what she did with it. She knew what the king was capable of. Now she knew his plans for Scotland, she was going to wait and see if there was any way she could tolerate working with him. Perhaps she could find some way to minimise the threat of the French royal family's influence in Scotland.

Right now, she had too much on her mind to think clearly. She thought about everything she'd just found out about James; about _Francis_. She still felt her head was spinning. And now she had to go to Paris, with Francis, and act like she knew nothing about all the king's under-handed dealings.

_Francis_.

She should be worrying about James, and yet she couldn't stop thinking about him, and about what his father had just said.

Was he really in love with her? Was there a way she could find out? Why did she care so much? Would it change things if he was?

"Oh, and princess?" Mary heard the king call out to her just as she headed out the door.

Mary stopped and turned around to look at him.

"Regardless of whether you marry Francis, or Sebastian, you will still be marrying one of _my_ sons."

With that, he smirked and got up from his seat so that he could slam the door in Mary's face.

Mary stood outside the closed door, feeling more confused than ever.


	15. Chapter 15

Mary ran away from the king's office as fast as her legs could carry her.

Her thoughts swam rapidly around in her head, each one more confusing than the other, and she felt like there was a heavy weight in her chest, restricting her breathing. But still she had to move; she had to keep going.

As she passed through the hallway by the main offices, Mary caught sight of Catherine, who was leaning against the wall, regarding Mary with an unreadable expression.

When Mary caught her eye, she clapped her hands slowly, in a way that could either be admiring or sarcastic. She had clearly been listening in on Mary's conversation with Henry. Mary didn't have time to interpret Catherine's reaction to her argument with the king. She shook her head and kept going, heading for the nearest staircase.

She took the stairs two at a time. She had to get ready for the visit to Paris. She knew that there was a team of people waiting for her in one of the spare rooms; they were all supposed to help her choose her outfit and assist her with her hair and makeup so she could head outside and meet Francis and pose for a few photographs before they headed off on their journey together.

* * *

Finally, she arrived in the correct part of the castle.

Before she entered the makeshift dressing room, Mary stopped in the corridor and leaned against the left-hand wall. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure as she tried _not_ to think about everything that the king had just said.

She had to calm down, or Francis would know that something was wrong, and the cameras would pick up on it, and other people in the castle would start to ask questions…

She breathed in, and out. Her heartbeat was starting to return to its normal rate…

"Who has the key to your heart?"

At the sound of a man's voice in the corridor, Mary jumped and quickly opened her eyes.

She turned her head a little and noticed a man dressed in a smart suit walking towards her. Instantly, she recognised him as one of the men who had been in the king's office when Mary had first barged in.

Mary frowned at him, confused by his question.

He walked a little closer to her and nodded pointedly at the black ribbon around Mary's neck.

Mary looked down and realised that her homemade necklace was sticking out of her shirt collar-it must have fallen out while Mary was storming around the castle. The key was now visible for all to see, hanging around Mary's neck. Hurriedly, Mary tried to tuck it back in. She did not want that key to be visible just yet.

"Louis Conde," the man introduced himself, before Mary could say anything in response.

He opened his hand to her, and Mary shook it. His hand was not too warm, or too cold; his grip on her hand was somehow both firm and gentle; it was almost comforting.

Mary told him her name in return, although she had a feeling by the look on his face that he already knew exactly who she was; she had a feeling that he had deliberately come here to find her.

"That was quite an impressive show of power against the King of France," he told her with a warm smile. He looked genuinely impressed.

"Sometimes these kings need to learn the value of truth and honesty," Mary told him with a serious expression, trying to be cryptic. She wasn't exactly sure yet whose side Conde was on. She also wasn't sure if _she_ was truly the person to be preaching the values of honesty.

"Are you a regular visitor to the castle?" Mary asked him, trying to find out a little more about this man.

"I come here on diplomatic visits every so often," he told her, his expression more serious now. "I recently bought an apartment in Paris to use on work trips-my work isn't my entire life, and the visits to the castle are a perfect excuse to spend some time in France…"

Mary looked up at him with what she knew was a look of envy. She couldn't even imagine what it would be like, to own an apartment in Paris, and to take holidays in the capital whenever it suited her-Conde could spent time there, anonymously, taking in the sights, having fun…

He seemed to interpret her look of envy as a look of confusion, because he continued to explain…"I work in politics, in London," he said, "my main home is there, in the city, not too far from Westminster, although I enjoy spending time in Paris, too-my family's originally from France."

"You have a home in London?" Mary asked him. Again, her feeling of envy returned. She had always dreamed of living in London, in a real home of her own.

Conde seemed to study her expression for a moment. He must have picked up on something in her eyes, because he took out his phone and held it out to her. He had pulled up a photo of his home.

Mary stared at the picture displayed on his phone screen, transfixed. She blinked a couple of times in shock. Conde's home looked just like a real-life version of the doll's house in her room back in Scotland. It was a Victorian style house, in a beautiful shade of light blue. Mary could almost imagine a happy family inside, going about their day, oblivious to all the dramas of the outside world.

"Perhaps you should visit London soon," said Conde, lowering his voice as he placed his phone back in his pocket. "For political reasons, of course," he quickly added with a half-smile, as though the two of them were in on some sort of private joke.

Mary frowned at him.

"Rumour has it that the royals think it would help with diplomatic issues, if you could ease the rift between the English and Scottish Parliaments…"

Mary had a strange feeling that this was not the real reason why Conde wanted her to visit London, but she could not say this out loud. "Of course," she replied with a nod. "I was planning on a visit to talk with the Prime Minister soon." Perhaps she really could turn it into a diplomatic mission, and make it seem like it had been her idea all along. "I shall probably go with Francis," she added, quickly, feeling like she should say this, for some reason.

As she mentioned Francis's name, she was reminded all over again of her conversation with the king. Had there been any truth to his words? Was there a way that Mary could find out how Francis felt? Should she ask him? Quickly, she shook her head, trying to clear it of these thoughts for the moment.

"I hope to see you there," Conde told her with another smile, although his smile seemed a little forced now. He didn't seem thrilled at the idea of Mary visiting London with Francis.

"Perhaps you will," said Mary, as she continued to stare at him curiously. "You have a very beautiful home," she added.

"Thank you," said Conde with a polite nod of his head. "Although, I'm sure it would be a lot nicer if I had someone to share it with…"

Before Mary could say anything else, he bowed and started to walk away down the corridor; he probably had to attend his postponed meeting with the king.

Mary watched him walk away, lost in her own thoughts. Louis Conde worked in politics. He lived in Mary's 'dream home' in London. He regularly went on holiday to Paris. He did not make his work a priority over his personal life. He was handsome. He seemed kind, and intelligent.

He was just the sort of man who she would have chosen for herself on the matchmaking show.

Mary felt more confused than ever. The corridor felt too warm, all of a sudden. She had to get out-Francis would be waiting for her outside soon.

* * *

Francis stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom. He reached up to adjust his shirt collar and realised, to his utter embarrassment, that his hands were shaking.

A few of his stylists offered yet again to help him get ready, but Francis waved them off. He did not want to be a king today. He wanted to pretend to be a normal young man who was about to go out on a date with a beautiful woman. He wanted to be himself, without advisors telling him what to do and how to act.

Was this a date? Francis wasn't sure.

He didn't know how all of this worked. With Olivia, things had been simpler. They'd been introduced by various nobles at a royal ball, and things had gone from there. Their match had been approved of; everything had been organised for them, and the other royals and nobles turned a blind eye whenever the two of them snuck away down dark corridors at various fancy parties.

With Mary, Francis felt completely out of his depth. He had changed outfits several times this morning, discarding every option, and he'd tried and failed to fix his hair, and his hands were _still_ shaking. Oh, how his subjects would laugh, if they could see him now! He would look so… _weak_. His father would be furious. His father was always furious, when it came to Francis's feelings for Mary.

He thought again about Mary. What would he say to her, when the two of them first stepped outside the castle and they began their journey together?

Then another thought occurred to him: Had Mary spoken to his father this morning? Had she worked out the twisted game he was playing? Would she still want to continue with the show, after she found out what he was up to?

Francis's frantic thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. His mother walked gracefully into the room, not taking her eyes off Francis as she folded her arms and leaned against the nearest wall. She was as elegant as ever, wearing a long, royal blue dress and her hair styled neatly in a bun.

Francis sighed as she continued to stare at him with an expression of obvious disapproval. He considered making a sarcastic comment about knocking on doors before entering rooms, but he decided against it. His mother wouldn't listen-she had no concept of privacy.

"Yes, Mother?" Francis asked her as he continued to adjust his black shirt. He knew that she was waiting for him to start the conversation, so she could share whatever gossip she was clearly desperate to tell him.

"Conde was talking to Mary in the upstairs corridor a few moments ago," the queen told him, her tone sharp, business-like. "She seemed to be rather taken by him."

Francis felt a sharp twist right in his gut at his mother's words. He struggled to keep his expression neutral. "And?" Francis asked her, still refusing to look away from the mirror. He knew that there would be an _I-told-you-so_ expression written all over his mother's face. "Mary is allowed to talk to whoever she wants."

The queen rolled her eyes, as though Francis were a child who just couldn't see the bigger picture. "Her heart is not fully in this matchmaking show," his mother told him, her expression grave. "She is considering other possibilities. My dear boy, you must consider the humiliation you will face if she were to reject you for another man at the end of the show. We need to keep the upper hand over our rivals. The last thing I want is to see you, or this country, publicly disgraced…"

Francis felt a twist of anger, along with the pain.

"And even if she picks you, you can't rule out the possibility that she will marry you entirely for political reasons while she continues to take other lovers behind your back. Is that the life you want to live, Francis?"

Francis felt another tug of pain. It was like somebody was twisting a knife inside him. For as long as Francis could remember, his father had had mistresses, while his mother had taken lovers as revenge for her husband's infidelity. The thought of living that kind of life was unbearable-Francis had always privately vowed that he would marry for love, and that he would never have mistresses. He would not be like his father. Would Mary really go through with a wedding, purely for political reasons, without truly loving him?

Francis turned to look at his mother. Her face was expressionless, giving nothing away.

He frowned, suddenly feeling a little suspicious. Was this all just some twisted game his mother was playing?

"Why do you hate Mary so much?" he asked her, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Perhaps a part of him was curious to know where this animosity had come from. He couldn't see how _anyone_ could hate Mary, although perhaps he was a little biased. _"_ _Blinded by love_ _!"_ as his father would say.

"Francis," his mother sighed, "I don't hate Mary; I _adored_ her, when the two of you were children and she spent every summer here, at the castle. And her behaviour this morning was almost admirable."

"Then what is all this about?" Francis asked her, still feeling confused. He had no idea what Mary had done this morning to earn the queen's admiration.

Again, his mother sighed. "This is about _politics_ ," she told him. "Love and hate don't even come into it. You have been preparing to be a king since you were born; you have the potential to be a _wonderful_ king…a marriage with that girl and an alliance with Scotland could put all of that at risk. She is a distraction to you, Francis, and the last thing a king needs is a distraction."

For a moment, her expression darkened, and Francis suspected that she was thinking about all of her husband's 'distractions'.

"Are you saying you think I should walk away from the matchmaking show?" he asked his mother.

For a moment, a tense silence seemed to pass between the two of them.

"All I'm saying," the queen finally responded, "is that _you_ should consider _other options_ , in case Mary decides that _she_ wants to take another option…"

With one last significant look in his direction, the queen walked slowly out of the room. The sound of the door closing seemed to echo all around the room.

* * *

Francis continued getting ready, but he was lost in his thoughts. His mother's words seemed to echo in his mind….

His mother believed that Mary was looking at other options; she believed that her heart was not fully in the show and the matchmaking process; his mother thought that Francis should consider other options, too, just in case…

_Other options…_

Francis knew exactly what that meant.

It would be so much easier, to marry a different woman; to remove himself from the daily humiliation of having to play up to the cameras for a television show; he could enter into a political match, with a woman who his mother approved of; he could save France from a diplomatic crisis; he could save himself from so much pain and heartache.

He pictured a woman with long, blonde hair, standing next to him on all of his royal visits around the country, with all of the old French noble families on their side, nodding in approval as they both signed official documents that ensured protection for France. A woman like that had been his girlfriend once; she would probably agree to be his wife, if her own future and a life of luxury were secured as a result.

Then, surprisingly, for the first time ever, he pictured another woman, with long, brown curls. With her, he could still ensure some kind of diplomacy with Scotland, maybe even an alliance with England. Perhaps more importantly, he could limit Narcisse's influence for a little while...She would be his friend, at least.

The heat in the room suddenly felt unbearable. Almost without thinking about it, Francis walked in the direction of the window. He reached forward, intending to open it so that he could get some fresh air.

Then he saw her.

Mary was outside, standing on the grass a few feet away from one of the castle doors.

She was dressed casually, in black trousers and a white jumper.

Francis's younger brother, Charles, ran towards her, and the two of them started to play a game, both of them laughing together. Mary took hold of Charles's hands, and then they were going around in circles, spinning each other around.

Francis simply looked out the window and watched as Mary continued to spin around, her hair flowing loosely around her. She looked beautiful. It was like watching everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of...It was almost as though fate were taunting him with a life that he had never been allowed to have.

Suddenly, Mary looked up.

Before Francis could back away, she caught his eye.

Francis looked back at her, trying not to blush.

She also looked a little embarrassed at the apparent realisation that he had been watching her play games with Charles-games that princesses were not really supposed to play. But still, she grinned at him. Then, she raised an eyebrow at him and pretended to tap on an imaginary watch on her wrist, almost like she was mocking him for being late…

Of course. She was ready to go. Ready to go to Paris.

Francis had almost forgotten, with all of the confusion over the past few minutes. She was outside, waiting for him. She was expecting him to head outside, so that they could head to Paris together. She was impatient to get going. Perhaps she was even looking forward to spending the day with him.

Francis couldn't help grinning back at her. Quickly, he moved away from the window and walked out of his room and towards the castle doors, so that he could meet her outside.

Francis knew that right now, everything was against them; there were others competing for Mary's heart, and others disapproving of the match; but still, Francis could not give up on her. As long as there was some hope that he would eventually be the one to win her heart, Francis would keep fighting for her.


	16. Chapter 16

Mary was playing games with Charles in the castle gardens when Francis walked out of one of the castle's exit doors and descended the stone steps.

She quickly paused the game she was playing and stopped to stare at him.

He looked handsome, there was no doubt about it, dressed almost casually in a black shirt and trousers, with his blond curls looking a little more unruly than usual. There was something about the way he was dressed today that made him seem more like a typical young man who was taking a day off from work.

For some reason, Mary's heart started to beat faster. When Mary had caught his eye while he'd been staring out of the window a few moments ago, she was sure that they'd shared a moment; it was like _something_ had passed between them. Perhaps this day really would be a special day just for the two of them.

Suddenly realising that she was staring, Mary blinked rapidly a few times and tried to compose herself.

As Charles quickly became distracted and he ran off to carry on playing his games with a little girl with blonde hair who was also outside, running around the grounds, Mary walked slowly towards Francis.

He seemed to be watching her approach.

With every step, she thought about the secret that the king had just revealed to her-about how he believed that Francis was in love with her. She knew that she should be thinking about all of the other things that the king had said, but she couldn't get that one idea out of her head; it was the same idea that was making her increasingly nervous with every step closer she took towards the future King of France.

"Mary," Francis greeted her with a smile and a bow as she approached. Apparently, he hadn't fully switched off from royal protocol.

"Francis," Mary replied with a bow of her own, unable to think of anything else to say.

She was lost for words. She wasn't sure why. She also felt self-conscious in a way that she had never felt before. These moments of getting to see Francis like this-casual, unguarded, always threw her.

"Do you think I look under-dressed?" she couldn't help blurting out. She was worried now that her clothes would be too casual for the trip to Paris.

"You look beautiful," he replied quickly. Then his eyes widened as though he'd only just realised what he'd said.

Mary had to fight off a blush. Although, things were made easier by the fact that Francis seemed a little embarrassed, too.

An awkward silence suddenly passed between the two of them. It seemed that Francis wasn't sure what to say either.

Francis stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and the two of them seemed to shuffle from one foot to the other, not speaking.

In the silence, Mary wondered again if her clothes really were suitable for the day ahead-she had chosen to wear a simple white jumper over a black T-shirt and trousers, with plain black flat shoes to finish off the look. She had grown rather fond of wearing white jumpers ever since Francis had allowed her to wear his a few days ago.

"I have a surprise for you," Francis suddenly announced with an almost-grin, breaking the silence. Whatever the surprise was, he looked rather pleased with himself, although he still looked a little nervous. A few weeks ago, Mary had never even thought that Francis could _get_ nervous. She could get used to seeing him like this, she realised.

"A surprise?" Mary asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Francis nodded. "I thought we could take a train to Paris, instead of taking the cars all the way?"

In spite of the awkwardness of the moment, Mary couldn't help feeling happy about this suggestion. She got bored sometimes, of having to travel everywhere in royal cars with only the guards and a police escort for company. There were times when she'd longed to take trains around Scotland by herself, to take in the beautiful Scottish countryside from the train's window.

"That would be perfect," she told Francis with a polite nod, before they were interrupted by a few photographers, who wanted to take a picture of them standing outside the castle.

* * *

There were cars waiting to take them to the train station. Mary opened one of the doors and climbed into the back seat, with Francis not too far behind her.

Eventually, after a minor tantrum from Charles, and his repeated insistence that he wanted to travel to the station with them, Mary and Francis got into the waiting cars, and they were soon joined by Francis's younger brother, as well as Charles's friend-the little girl with blonde hair who was apparently the daughter of a friend of Catherine's, who had been spending a couple of weeks at the castle with her family.

Mary and Francis sat opposite Charles and the little girl in the car.

Francis was quiet as the cars started their journey out of the castle grounds. Mary felt a little tense as yet another awkward silence passed between them. Francis looked nervous again, guarded…More than that, he looked like he was lost in thought, or like he was trying to make a decision about something.

To make matters even more awkward, Charles suddenly reached out his hand to the little girl who was sitting next to him. The little girl giggled and reached out her left hand towards him.

Soon, the two children were sitting holding hands.

Francis seemed to look more nervous than ever when he looked at the children's joined hands-Mary wondered if the gesture made him feel under pressure to hold _her_ hand.

Quickly, Francis looked away from them all and turned to look out of the window.

When Mary caught Charles's eye, he grinned at her, a playful expression on his face.

Mary couldn't help grinning back at him-Charles knew exactly what he was doing; he knew, somehow, that Francis was nervous around Mary, and he was being the typical little brother, trying to embarrass his big brother.

* * *

When they arrived at the tiny train station in the French countryside, Mary noticed, to her surprise, that a large, old-fashioned steam train was waiting to take them to the capital city.

She had to cover up a gasp of delight. She might have expected the train to be slightly more luxurious than a typical train, given Francis's status as a royal, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

The train was like something out of Mary's favourite classic novels-like some kind of preserved relic from the past. She wondered if Francis had hired the train for the day…for her. She felt a strange thrill at the thought of it.

"Do you like it?" Francis asked her in a whisper. It seemed he didn't want their conversation to be overheard by the camera crew and photographers who had gathered on the platform.

"I love it," Mary replied to him in a whisper. And she meant it.

It was worth it to see the smile on Francis's face at her response.

* * *

Mary and Francis had agreed that the camera crew could have limited access to their trip today. This limited access involved the two of them posing for several photographs as they boarded the train. But still, in spite of the not-so-welcome presence of the cameras, Mary still noticed that the interior of the train was just as beautiful as the outside-the carriages were full of dark-wood tables and comfortable-looking red leather seats, with a red carpet rolled out down the middle of each carriage, partially covering the original blue carpet.

Mary and Francis took their seats opposite one another, with only a table between them, trying to ignore the camera crew and various members of staff who had taken their seats in the same carriage.

As the train pulled out of the station, afternoon tea was brought out to them on a silver tray.

Mary was impressed by the fancy cups of tea and the delicious-looking sandwiches and scones.

Discreetly, she took a picture of the food and drink. Then, after thinking about it for a couple of moments, she sent the picture to Greer, Lola and Kenna.

Greer and Lola seemed happy to receive a photo, the two of them quickly sending replies, asking her how she was enjoying the visit to France so far. Only Kenna seemed less than impressed: _Forget about the food, Mary!_ she sent as her reply. _Take more pictures with Francis!_

Mary had to cover up her laughter at Kenna's response. She felt strangely content at the girls' responses. It was nice, to pretend to be a normal teenager for a while.

As Mary and Francis took sips from their cups of tea, Francis asked Mary about a few of the books she'd read recently.

Mary was only too happy to talk about a more light-hearted topic.

Mary wasn't sure what surprised her the most-the fact that Francis seemed to enjoy most of the same books as she did, or the fact that the conversation was flowing easily between them, now that they had found something to talk about and there were no cameras pointing right at them.

It was only a little later in the journey, when another silence passed between them, that all of Mary's troubled thoughts seemed to take over her mind again.

As the French countryside rolled past the windows, Mary's memories of her conversation with the king whirled around in her mind.

She thought about all the dirt he had on Scotland, all the threats he had made. She thought about how he had told her that Francis was in love with her-she couldn't stop thinking about it.

Then she thought about James, and all the secrets that he had kept from her.

She thought about Catherine, and how she had photos of Mary and Bash that she could use against her at any moment.

She thought about Bash, and all his secrets.

She thought about Narcisse, and all his scheming.

She thought about her mother, sick, preparing to hand over the crown to James.

She thought about Conde, with his home in London, walking towards her in the corridor. _"Who has the key to your heart?"_ he had asked her…

"Mary?"

Mary jumped a little at the sound of Francis's voice. She had been so lost in her worries that she had almost forgotten where she was.

Almost reluctantly, she turned away from the window.

"Are you all right?" Francis asked her, with a concerned-looking expression on his face.

Mary nodded, trying to look convincing.

Apparently, Francis could see through the act. "Did you talk with my father?" he asked her. "You don't have to answer," he added quickly, his tone of voice soft, reassuring.

Again, Mary nodded. She was sure that a look of despair was written all over her face, because Francis frowned. He lifted his hands a little, as though half-considering reaching out to comfort her, but then he seemed to think better of it.

After a few moments of careful consideration, Mary decided that it would be better to be honest-about some of the conversation, anyway. "It is as I thought," she told Francis, "and at the same time, much worse."

"Mary, what is it?" Francis asked her in barely more than a whisper.

"He is using my whereabouts on the night of the attack as blackmail material," she replied, trying to suppress a shudder as she thought about that night. "As well as my country's desperate need for money and security."

A pained expression seemed to cross Francis's face.

At the very least, Mary was reassured by the fact that he seemed disgusted by his father's motives.

"It is more than that," she continued, her heart beating fast, "he has discovered…secrets about my brother that he can also use to threaten Scotland."

A look of surprise, then shock, then concern crossed Francis's face.

Mary could understand Francis's surprise at this news-she too had thought that James always behaved perfectly. How easy it was to be wrong about people!

Mary knew that she was taking another great risk in revealing this news about her brother to a French royal, but she felt like Francis deserved to know the full truth about his father's behaviour. "James is a future king, Francis," Mary explained to him, needlessly, "we cannot afford anything negative to be revealed about him so close to a coronation…"

"Mary, I'm so sorry," said Francis.

Mary had the distinct impression that Francis had wanted to say those words for a while.

"I knew about the first part of his…blackmail," he said, "but I had no idea about the second part. I thought that by agreeing to take part in the show, I could protect you…"

Mary nodded, not really sure what to say in response. A part of her was grateful that Francis was being more honest with her, and trying in his own way to protect her, but another part of her wasn't convinced that either of them could ever be safe from the king's scheming.

"Last night," Francis went on, a rare look of vulnerability on his face now; a look that almost made Mary want to move forward in her seat, "I couldn't sleep-I was thinking that you would leave, after my father revealed a few unpleasant truths to you-"

"You were afraid that I would leave?" Mary asked him with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't help feeling rather flattered that he was concerned about her leaving.

"I didn't say 'afraid'," Francis cut in quickly, an almost-pout on his face at Mary's choice of phrasing. It seemed that future kings did not like to appear to be afraid of anything.

Mary couldn't help it-in spite of everything, she smiled. "Of course not," she whispered, mockingly. It was like they were children again, teasing each other.

Francis smiled back at her, but he still looked a little worried.

"Any yet I'm still here," said Mary. She almost couldn't believe it herself.

"And yet you're still here," Francis repeated, a look of what could be amazement on his face.

They lapsed into silence again, but this time, the silence was a more comfortable one.

* * *

Less than an hour later, the train arrived at the station in Paris.

They were ushered off the train and into a waiting car by various security guards.

As she got into the car, Mary saw that the sun was bright in the sky. She couldn't help smiling. She was here, in Paris, on a sunny day, with Francis. They were 'off-duty' today-they didn't have to follow royal protocol, if they didn't want to. Were they on a date? Mary wasn't sure.

In no time at all, the car took them to their first location. Mary had spoken a little to Francis about the places she wished to visit in Paris, and Francis had planned out their day in advance with his staff and security team.

She might have mentioned the places she wanted to visit, but it still felt new and surprising to Mary when they arrived at the _Louvre_. She imagined that this is how tourists would feel on their first visit to the city.

They walked around the gallery together, taking in the priceless paintings as their security teams trailed behind them.

Francis talked enthusiastically about the paintings and portraits, pointing out a few of his favourites to Mary, and telling her random facts and dates. He looked and sounded confident now, almost as though he were speaking to a large audience. He could stand tall, recite information, project his voice. He would make a great leader, Mary thought to herself.

As Francis started to tell her stories about his visits to the gallery during his childhood, Mary watched him in amazement, stunned into silence by the fact that Francis was talking so openly, and happily, as though they had been friends for years. Mary wondered, not for the first time, if Francis felt like he could show more of his true self when he was away from the castle.

"I'm sorry, I'm boring you," said Francis with an apologetic shrug. He actually looked a little embarrassed.

Mary looked at him, a little surprised that he had interpreted her silence for boredom.

"Not at all," Mary told him with a grin. She wasn't yet ready to admit that her 'boredom' had really been interest.

* * *

They continued to walk close to one another as they headed outside into the _Louvre's_ grounds. They had allowed this part of the visit to be photographed, and the two of them spent a little while posing for photographs next to the glass pyramids.

She followed the photographer's directions, moving closer to Francis when she was instructed to do so. It didn't feel quite as awkward as it used to.

As she stood in silence, Mary tried her best to appreciate the beauty of her surroundings, and she tried not to let her thoughts run away with her. For a moment, she wondered whereabout in the city Conde's Parisian apartment was located, and if he liked spending so much time in the city, but she was quickly distracted from these thoughts when Francis put his arm around her for another photograph.

* * *

After their visit to the _Louvre_ , the two of them were driven the short distance to the _Jardin des Tuileries_ , where Mary knew that they would have a little time to themselves, as their staff had promised to keep their distance.

They strolled around the grounds, passing several trees and a statue, and pausing to look at the ferris wheel in the distance.

After about twenty minutes, Mary stopped underneath one of the larger trees.

"Are you all right?" Francis asked her, looking concerned.

Mary nodded. "Sit with me?" she asked Francis. If he asked, she would tell him that she wanted to take a break from all of the members of the security staff who were walking around the outskirts of the park, but there was a little more to it than that-being here, in a park, walking under the trees, it was bringing some kind of memory back for Mary-a moment shared with Francis when they were younger. And yet she still couldn't quite retrieve it in her mind. She was hoping that she might get closer to discovering the full memory if she sat here with Francis for a little while.

Francis nodded. He moved to sit next to her under the tree, and they sat in silence for a few moments.

"Do you remember all the time we spent together in the gardens when we were children?" Mary asked him.

"Of course," Francis replied with a smile. He looked truly happy, as though the memories were fond ones.

They fell into a conversation about their time spent together at the castle as children, gently mocking each other, each claiming that the other had played the worst practical jokes or said the most insulting comments. Mary couldn't help feeling a little sad-for the first time in what was probably a long time, she wished that their families had not become mixed up in rivalries and feuds; she wished that she'd had the opportunity to talk with Francis more over the years-perhaps things would not have been so awkward when they were reunited for the matchmaking show.

By the time they stood up again to continue walking around the park, Mary still could not recall the memory that was hiding in the back in the back of her mind. However, she was certain that the time spent reminiscing with Francis had been time well spent.

* * *

Mary was almost reluctant to leave the park, but it was worth it when they were driven to a little coffee shop just on the edge of the _Champs Elysees_ , where they were allowed to stop for lunch. The two of them sat outside at a table for two, wearing hats and sunglasses in an attempt at a disguise.

Every now and again, Mary noticed a member of the Security Team walking past the table, and across from them on the other side of the street, but apart from that, they were mostly left alone to enjoy their lunch and then to eat cake, talking in low voices and people-watching. The people around them seemed to have no idea that they were sitting next to royalty.

Francis seemed to be making an effort to make conversation today. He asked her about Greer, and how things were going after her wedding, which led to a conversation about Greer and Aloysius, and how they had met. Then they started talking about Greer's ex-boyfriend, Leith, as it turned out that he and Francis had been friends, when they'd been at school in London. Sometimes, it felt like all the people in her and Francis's lives overlapped in some way or another.

With each passing minute, Mary felt more relaxed, more free. There was something pleasant about being here, sitting outside a Parisian café, just like a tourist, dressed in casual clothes and enjoying the sunshine. She _liked_ being here with Francis Valois, she realised.

She wondered if she and Francis would ever have had the opportunity to visit this city together if their lives hadn't been thrown together due to their royal statuses.

They fell into reminiscing about their school days in London, and Francis mentioned something about the hours he had spent walking around the city.

Before the trip, Mary had worried that Francis would be serious and silent throughout the visit, but now it felt easy to make conversation with him; he didn't seem to take himself too seriously when he was off duty. Francis was so much more relaxed and open when he was away from castles and royal families, Mary realised.

"Where did you go, when you used to walk around the city by yourself?" Mary suddenly asked him without thinking about it.

She tried not to blush, worrying that Francis might work out that she had on several occasions tried to follow him around London.

Francis, however, looked very solemn and serious. "Everywhere. Nowhere," he responded with a sigh.

Mary watched him curiously, wondering if there was more to it than that.

They were interrupted by the arrival of a waiter, who brought more coffee over to their table.

The moment the waiter left, Francis spoke again, sounding more hesitant this time: "There was a girl there, in London. Sometimes, when I was walking around the city, I was trying to work up the courage to talk to her…"

At Francis's words, and his obvious blush, Mary felt a stab of something that had to be jealousy. Who was the girl? Did Mary know her? Did Francis still think about her? Why did she care so much?

Francis was looking at her like he expected her to say something, but Mary wasn't sure that she would be able to say anything wise right now.

They fell into silence again as they finished their coffees.

* * *

They spent the afternoon strolling around the shops on the _Champs Elysees_. Francis made a big show of rolling his eyes whenever Mary wanted him to stop and look in several of the shops that were selling women's designer clothes, but Mary knew from his smirks that he was only playing along, teasing her.

Then Mary had her turn to pretend to sigh and roll her eyes when Francis took her to some of the fancy shops selling designer suits for men.

Mary had to admit however, that Francis looked very handsome as he tried on a couple of expensive shirts.

After they had finished shopping (and Mary had purchased several gifts from tourist shops to take home to her friends), they ended up standing opposite the _Arc de Triomphe_.

Mary took out her phone, taking several pictures of the landmark, so that she could show them to her family.

"Can I take a picture with you?" Mary asked Francis after a few moments' consideration.

"You don't have to ask permission," Francis told her, laughter in his voice.

Mary felt a little embarrassed-she knew that she sounded like any other young girl who was asking for a selfie with a famous prince.

She rolled her eyes at Francis, but then she stood next to him, Francis holding her phone up to take the picture of the two of them together, with the _Arc de Triomphe_ in the background.

For a moment, Mary felt like any other young woman who was on a city break with her boyfriend.

Discreetly, she sent the picture to Kenna, deciding that this was the kind of photo that she would prefer to see. She smiled to herself when Kenna text her back almost immediately, with a lot of heart emojis in her response.

* * *

As the late afternoon turned into evening, Mary discovered that Francis had arranged another surprise.

They were booked in for a visit to the Eiffel Tower, and Francis's team had asked for the attraction to be closed for an hour so that they would have some privacy.

After Mary had quickly changed into slightly smarter clothes for the evening that had been provided for her by her stylists in one of the royal cars, Mary and Francis were escorted into the lifts by their security team, and within minutes, they were standing on one of the viewing decks, looking out over the city.

The stars were bright in the sky tonight, Mary noticed, and for now, everything felt peaceful.

After a little while, she looked to her left, where Francis was standing next to her, looking very serious again, like he was lost in troubled thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" Mary asked him. She hoped that their agreement to be honest with each other still stood.

Francis remained quiet, and Mary was worried that he would not answer her rather personal question, but finally, he spoke: "Mary, I was thinking about how it will not always be possible to do things like this once I am king…"

"Duty comes first," Mary replied automatically. She had heard all of this before from her brother.

Unsurprisingly, Francis nodded.

Mary sighed to herself. This would be the reality, if she chose Francis in the end. He could arrange elaborate weekends in Paris now and again, but they could not just choose to leave the castle and spend time together whenever they wanted. Royal duty would have to come first. Francis had already accepted that. He was telling her now, being as honest as he could, that this would always be the case.

And, what would happen, if 'royal duty' advised Francis against marrying her, in the end?

"Mary?" Francis broke Mary's sombre thoughts with a whisper. "For the first time ever, I find myself wishing that I did not have any royal duties at all…"

"Oh," said Mary.

She wasn't really sure what to make of that answer; she wasn't sure what Francis meant by those words.

She went back to looking out at the city, thinking about how strange it was that she was standing with Francis in Paris, under the stars.

She wasn't sure if either of them had moved, but it felt as though they were standing a little closer to one another than they had been a couple of minutes ago.

* * *

At nightfall, the two of them ended up in an old-fashioned restaurant that was located not too far from the Eiffel Tower.

Mary sat back in her seat, dressed in an elegant black dress now, taking in the scene around her.

The tables were decorated with fancy tablecloths and silverware, a candle placed on each one. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and an ornate piano was positioned in the right-hand corner of the room. A pianist sat at the piano stool, playing slow, romantic songs on the keys.

A few elderly couples stood together on the polished wooden dancefloor, slow dancing to the music.

Mary took a few careful sips of her hot chocolate, after having declined various fancy cups of tea that had been offered to her.

For a little while, she made conversation with Francis about the upcoming journey home, thanking him again for a nice day, but although Francis responded politely, he was a little quiet again, as though his thoughts were somewhere else.

Mary was starting to feel a little nervous about Francis's silence, but suddenly he smiled, and Mary felt calm again.

"Mary," he asked her, his tone of voice more relaxed, informal, "would you do me the honour of dancing with me?" With that, he nodded in the direction of the dancefloor, before pausing to wait for her response.

Mary tried not to widen her eyes in shock. She couldn't believe it. Francis was asking her to dance with him. And here of all places-somewhere so private, so informal; somewhere so far away from official royal dances.

She remembered their conversation last night, when she'd asked him why he didn't dance with her; how she'd told him that he would never know if she wanted to dance with him if he didn't ask. He must have known, must have picked up on the fact that his apparent reluctance to dance with her meant something to her. And now he really was asking her, with nobody telling him that he had to do it, and not out of any sense of duty or decorum or diplomacy.

She realised that he was still waiting for her to say something.

"The honour would be mine," Mary answered with a smile, mocking the typical royal response as she held out a hand for Francis to lead her to the dancefloor.

With an amused-looking grin, he led her towards the dancefloor, and then they were standing among the elderly couples, all of whom seemed to have no idea who they both were.

It took them a few moments to get into position; to stand close together and to decide where their arms and hands were supposed to go.

As Francis placed a hand on Mary's waist, the two of them looked at each other and shared a laugh at the awkwardness of the moment. Mary couldn't get over the fact that they were standing here, in an old restaurant, amongst people much older than them, with so much history between them, attempting to dance with one another, in spite of everything.

Mary guessed that Francis was not completely comfortable with doing this, but it seemed he was making the effort, for her.

But then they were moving, slowly, in time to the soft, romantic music, with Francis gently leading the two of them; he seemed to be well-practiced at this whole dancing thing, Mary realised.

After a little while, the lights started to dim, and Mary got lost in the moment, standing close to Francis, moving slowly in time to the song being played on the piano. There was something comfortable about this, familiar, but also something new, scary, exhilarating. It was as though time stopped; as though they were in another world; as though it was just the two of them. Mary wasn't sure if she had ever felt like this before.

She looked right at Francis, and he was looking right at her. Something deep, hidden, secret seemed to pass between the two of them in that look. They moved a little closer to one another. Mary wasn't sure what was happening, but she wanted more of this moment…

"You two make a beautiful couple!"

They were interrupted by an elderly couple who had just waltzed past them. The woman, who a had a German accent, was looking at the two of them with a proud smile. She clearly had no idea who they were both were, but she seemed to find the sight of two young people dancing together adorable.

Francis simply smiled at the woman and nodded in acknowledgement, while Mary tried her best to smile at them as they waltzed away from them, although she still felt a little dazed.

She looked at Francis and the two of them smiled at each other. Whatever had happened, the moment had been lost. But still, it felt nice, when Francis pulled her in close again; it was like the two of them were embracing.

Mary allowed Francis to hold her as she leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, allowing the music to carry her away to a magical place again.

She felt almost like her body was healing, resetting after the last time the two of them had stood so close together on a dancefloor. Back then, the night had ended in disaster. But tonight, as Francis held her in the darkened room, the two of them temporarily free from their usual distractions, it felt like the two of them fit together perfectly.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the train station, a large crowd had gathered on the platform.

Mary sighed. It seemed that word had got out that a prince and a princess were visiting the city.

The presence of the large crowd meant that their walk across the platform and to the train was not as relaxing as Mary would have hoped.

They were escorted down the platform with various security guards pressed up close to them, protecting them.

Finally, Mary was standing by one of the open carriage doors, ready to board the train.

"Queen Mary?"

Mary stopped, blinked a few times in shock; it took her a few moments to work out that it was _her_ who was being addressed. It felt very strange, to be addressed as a queen.

Slowly, she turned around.

Two children had pushed their way to the front of the crowd on the platform. A little boy and a little girl were looking up at her expectantly, holding out a bunch of white flowers for her.

Apparently, they were somehow under the impression that Mary was already a queen.

After a quick security check from her guards, Mary was able to accept the flowers from the children.

"Thank you," she told them with a smile.

The children bowed to her and disappeared among the crowd.

* * *

Still in a daze, Mary boarded the train.

She held the flowers tightly in her hands as she sat down slowly in her seat, and Francis sat down opposite her.

Suddenly, the events of the day played out clearly in her mind, overwhelming her…

She thought about all the places they'd visited in the city, all the conversations they'd had. She thought about her slow-dance with Francis-a dance that she had never thought she would have. She thought about the elderly couple on the dancefloor, who had assumed that she and Francis were a couple. Then she thought about the children, holding the flowers with the white petals…

As Mary thought about the two children, a tear started to fall slowly down her cheek.

Francis was watching her, a worried look on his face. "Are you okay?" he asked her in a whisper, no doubt trying to avoid attracting the attention of the other people who were travelling with them on the train.

Mary nodded. _I will be okay_ , she thought to herself. For the first time in a long time, she could believe it.

She noticed that Francis had moved his hand ever-so-slightly closer to hers, as though silently debating again whether he should offer comfort.

This time, Mary reached out and closed the gap between them.

Francis simply allowed her to take his hand in hers. He didn't ask her anymore questions; he just held her hand as a few more tears fell.

As the train made its journey back towards the castle, the two of them continued to hold hands.


	17. Chapter 17

Mary might have slept soundly through the night after her return from Paris, dreaming of stars and ballrooms and flowers, feeling more relaxed than she had felt in a long time, but the next morning, she woke up earlier than she had planned. She felt like her sleep had abruptly been disturbed, and she was sure that she had heard the faint sound of footsteps on her bedroom floor only a few minutes ago.

She sat up, groggily, feeling a little disorientated for a moment by her surroundings-she was still getting used to waking up in the French castle.

As she sat up, she could make out the faint orange light of the sun through the window as it rose in the sky.

Suddenly, Mary looked to her left as something caught her eye. She noticed a tiny black jewellery box on her bedside table.

She blinked in confusion a few times. She had been very tired by the time she'd arrived back at the castle after the day in Paris, but she was certain that the box hadn't been there last night.

For a moment, she felt a little suspicious. But then she heard the now-familiar voices of the castle's cleaning staff just outside her door, and she relaxed a little, deciding that one of them must have brought the jewellery box into her room. She wasn't sure why, or who it was from.

With shaking hands, Mary reached out for the box. Slowly, she opened it. After she had let out a gasp of shock, she stared at the tiny silver charm inside the box, trying to process what this gift could mean.

The silver charm was in the shape of a tiny little house-when Mary looked at it closely, she realised that it was almost an exact replica of the picture of Louis Conde's house that he had shown her yesterday.

Mary let go of the jewellery box, letting it to fall to her bed, almost as though it would burn her if she held onto it for too long.

Conde had intentionally had this particular charm sent to her this morning, she just knew it. He had seen something in her face yesterday, when she'd been staring at that photograph. Perhaps she should have guarded her emotions better, because now she felt like he was trying to lead her into some sort of temptation.

Cautiously, Mary took the silver charm out of its box. She lifted it up, examining it for a while, like it would contain some sort of secret code. She should put it away, she knew; she should hide it, somewhere she would never find it-but the charm was beautiful, and she couldn't let it go just yet.

There was a small silver loop at the top of the charm, right on the silver roof of the house. Mary reached for her black ribbon that she'd left on the large dressing table in the bedroom. She untied the knot and fed the ribbon through the silver loop. The charm slid effortlessly onto the ribbon, and the house moved into place next to the key and the wooden ring.

Mary picked up the necklace and placed it around her neck, trying it on for size now that something new had been added to the ribbon-a new secret on the hidden necklace; a new offering.

_Take it off!_ a little nagging voice in Mary's head that sounded suspiciously like her mother told her.

She would be opening herself up to all sorts of complications if anyone discovered the gift or if anyone found out who had sent to her. Not to mention that she was most likely tormenting herself with a future that would never be possible.

The doll's house; an escape from royal duties. It was oh so tempting...She couldn't take the necklace off. Not yet.

Mary stood up and walked towards the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. She stood in front of it, taking in her reflection.

Strangely, as she looked in the mirror, she pictured Narcisse's chessboard. By sending her this gift, Conde was intentionally adding himself to the game-another piece, another component to consider. He was offering her…something…some sort of alternative to the standard rules of the game.

Last night, everything had felt so perfect, and now Mary felt confused all over again.

The moment Mary turned away from the mirror and towards the window, she caught sight of Francis, who was outside, walking in the grounds.

He looked as handsome as ever today, dressed in dark trousers and a light blue shirt that seemed to make his blond hair look even more golden. Yet, there was something unsettled about him today; something that was far from calm and peaceful. He seemed to be pacing up and down, looking lost in thought, and like he had a thousand things on his mind. His steps were rapid, and his hands seemed to be clasped tightly in his pockets.

After a couple of minutes, Francis headed towards the trees at the end of the gardens. It seemed like he was heading somewhere more private.

Mary was overcome with a burning curiosity; a deep desire to follow him in the way that she had always followed him around London.

Almost absently, she placed a hand over the objects on her necklace. _The key. The mysterious ring. The house._ _Francis. Bash. Conde._

If Francis really did love her, would Mary even consider the others? At the start of the matchmaking show, she still would have considered other possibilities, no matter what…but now, she wasn't so sure. Last night, when she'd been dancing with Francis in Paris, Mary had felt like she didn't need anybody else...

She needed an answer, she decided. She was leaving today to return to Scotland. As much as the thought of asking him terrified her, she had to find out, now…

Hurriedly, she looked for something presentable to change into. She did not have time to call on a team of staff to apply her makeup and get her hair to look perfect and fasten her into to an intricate dress designed for a princess. This was no show, and there would be no cameras today.

When she opened the wardrobe door, Mary spotted a dress hanging there that hadn't been there yesterday.

The dress was light pink, and it looked just like the typical style of dress that Mary had worn on her visits to France during her childhood-back when she'd preferred light blues and pinks and ribbons in her hair; before she'd started to wear black all the time.

She frowned. Not many people would have known about the style of dresses she'd worn a decade ago.

As she took the dress off its hanger, a small note card fell to the floor. It had the official French royal stamp at the top, and a signature. Catherine's signature.

_With respect_ , Catherine had written on the card, cryptically.

Mary frowned and shook her head in confusion. She had no idea what she had done to merit any sort of respect from Francis's mother.

Mary checked the dress for any signs of sharp needles or poisonous powder or other hidden traps, but everything seemed to be above board.

She still didn't know why Catherine had sent her a gift, but she didn't have time to think about that right now.

* * *

In a matter of minutes, Mary had got dressed. She attempted to fix her hair, and then she headed out to the grounds.

She ran across the gardens and towards the trees, still not entirely certain where she was going or what she was doing.

It was easier that she'd thought it would be to trace Francis's steps. He'd left footprints in the ground that Mary could follow.

With every step she took deeper into the forest, Mary was overcome with a strong sense of déjà vu. Once upon a time, she had visited this place; she had walked this path many times before; it was all becoming clear now.

* * *

Finally, the trees opened out into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a tree. On the tree were hundreds of white petals. It was beautiful. Mary knew that she should have felt a little surprised at discovering such an unusual tree, but she had seen it before-she had been here many times as a child, she remembered. She had stood under this tree, and its petals had fallen gently on her head…the memories were desperately trying to reveal themselves to her, now that she was here.

She had been here with Francis. She had always been happy here. It had been one of her favourite places in the world. And yet there was a sadness about this place, in the trees, further into the forest; another dark memory that Mary couldn't quite access; something that was still blocking an important recollection of this place.

Mary noticed that Francis was standing underneath the tree with the white petals, his back to Mary. She got the impression that he still came to this place a lot-perhaps to think, to escape, to remember…

As though in a trance, Mary took a step towards him. In her hurry, she stepped on a loose twig on the floor.

At the sound of the wood breaking, Francis jumped. Slowly, he turned around to face her.

Briefly, there was a look of surprise on his face at seeing her here, then confusion. He didn't exactly look upset by her arrival, but Mary could sense that he had so much on his mind; it was like he was wrestling with several emotions at once; there was conflict written all over his face.

"Mary," he whispered.

"Francis," Mary replied, feeling lost for words all over again.

They stared at each other in the silence for a few moments.

Francis took a step towards her, but then he stopped. It seemed like he was acting like a future king again, silently telling himself that he could not get too close.

So Mary took it upon herself to move closer to him. She still wasn't quite sure where she was going with this meeting in the middle of the forest, but she knew that there was something important she had to find out before she left for Scotland.

"If I ask you something," she said, her voice trembling as she repeated the words that Francis had said to her the night before the visit to Paris, "will you answer honestly?"

Francis seemed to contemplate her question for a few moments, but finally, he nodded. For the first time ever, he looked scared, vulnerable...but still, there was something determined in his expression as well.

Mary took a few deep breaths. For the past two years, she had been so afraid, but now, she really wanted to be brave…

"If I was just a girl, and you were just a boy, not a future king of anything, what is it that you would want?"

Mary's question seemed to light a spark in Francis's eyes. His expression of fear changed to one of determination. Right now, Francis did not look like a king. He was a lost boy, walking around London, desperately trying to find something.

Still, there was silence.

"Francis, please," Mary practically begged. "I have a decision to make soon, and I have to know the full story..."

Francis took a step towards her. Then another, his movements rapid.

_Oh_ , Mary suddenly realised, as it became startlingly clear from the look on Francis's face exactly what he had been searching for in London. _Who_ he had been searching for; the reason why he had looked so uncomfortable when Mary had first asked him about his London walks. What a miracle.

Francis was right up close to her, in her space. His hands were on her face.

Mary was frozen to the spot, unsure exactly what was happening, only knowing that she was standing in exactly the right place.

Francis hesitated for a moment-he looked right into her eyes, as though silently asking permission.

Mary nodded.

Then his lips were on hers, and they were kissing. Francis was kissing her. And Mary was kissing him back.

The kiss was only slow at first, sweet, but then it quickly grew in intensity.

Mary parted her lips, allowing Francis better access, and then there was nothing sweet about it.

Francis kissed her like he was desperate, like he had to put _everything_ into this kiss before they parted; just in case he never got to kiss her again.

Mary had no clue what she was doing, but here, with Francis, she was able to act on instinct; it was as though her heart had this boy memorised, somehow.

Francis didn't seem to be complaining. He took control of the kiss, pulling Mary closer to him, and Mary took whatever she could get from him.

The moment was perfect. She didn't want it to end.

She lifted her right hand and ran it through Francis's soft curls, trying to hold him even tighter; trying to bring him closer to her.

So much pain, so much distance between them over the years, and yet, this kiss felt like the most natural thing in the world. Mary felt like she was back home.

It was like the rest of the world slipped out of focus. There was only Francis, and this kiss, and a few white petals from the tree falling gently onto their heads…

And suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, a memory opened up in her mind, now as clear as day…

_She was six years old. She had spent most of the summer with the Valois family at the French castle. She was happy, being here. She always told her parents that she liked it here because she enjoyed playing outside in the castle's grounds, and because there were horses in the stables, and the food tasted nice, and she was allowed to eat sweets and chocolate and cake, and she had even been allowed to dance in the ballroom with the grown-ups, but really, it was the presence of the boy with blond curls who was making her feel so content._

_Francis always seemed pleased to spend time with her, and the two of them spent their days running up and down the castle's corridors, and running hand-in-hand through the gardens, giggling and laughing at each other's jokes at the dinner table, sharing their food, and even sneaking out into the corridors at night, where they crept around the castle and shared whispered conversations. Already, Mary was dreading having to go home-she didn't want to leave Francis._

_Catherine pretended to get annoyed with them sometimes, especially when she caught them jumping on the beds or having pillow fights, but then Mary would catch her smiling affectionately at the two of them, and she guessed that the queen's anger was just for show._

_Mary spent many evenings in her room, writing her and Francis's names in her journal and on various royal notecards, always writing his surname next to her name, and the other way around. Then she would write their names all over again, surrounded by little red hearts. She liked the look of their names together._

_And so the summer days went on. Once or twice, Francis danced with Mary in the ballroom when all the adults threw their extravagant parties. Most evenings, Francis kissed her on the hand before she went upstairs to her room, the two of them giggling as they mocked the gestures of all the adults, and then when the sun rose in the morning, they continued to explore the castle together._

_Mary's favourite place to go with Francis however, was in a clearing in the forest that surrounded the castle. The two of them had found a little tree which flowered with beautiful white petals every spring. Sometimes, the petals would gently fall down onto Francis and Mary's heads when they were sitting under the tree. They would spend hours there, in the afternoons._

_Time seemed to move forward a little in Mary's mind, and suddenly it was the end of the summer. She still didn't want to go home to Scotland. She didn't want to leave France. She didn't want to leave Francis…_

_However, she had a plan; she had a plan for their future. She would ensure that one day, they would not have to part like this._

_It was the last day of her family's visit to France._

_Mary walked through the forest towards the tree with the white petals, feeling very sure of herself. She had arranged to meet Francis here today, and she had a very important question to ask him. She had to get an answer before her family left to go back to Scotland._

_Francis was already waiting for her under the tree. He grinned at her as she approached. He always looked happy to see her. He was her best friend in the world._

_Mary took determined steps towards him, getting as close to him as she could before she stopped._

_Then, she got down on one knee._

" _Francis, will you marry me?" she asked him._

_She wanted Francis to be her husband, one day. She had decided it for sure, over the summer. She was only six years old, but she had never been so certain of anything in her life._

_Francis's eyes widened as he looked at her in shock. It was not quite the reaction that Mary had been hoping for._

" _Mary," he told her, shaking his head, "we can't get married! We're only children!"_

_Mary was confused for a moment. She hadn't thought about that. "But we'll be grownups, one day," she told him, trying to be logical, "and we can get married then!" She smirked to herself, feeling sure that she had just given a very clever answer._

_Francis, however, did not seem convinced. "You won't want to marry me when we're grown up," he told her with a sigh._

" _Why not?!" Mary demanded of him, as stubborn as ever._

" _Because you will be in Scotland, and I will be in France, and one day you will forget about this marriage proposal. And then other boys in Scotland will want to marry you, and you will marry one of them."_

" _No, I won't!" Mary responded, feeling a little upset now. "I don't want to marry a boy in Scotland! I want to marry_ you _! Do you not want to marry me?" she asked him, feeling a little confused now, and a little hurt. She had thought that maybe Francis loved her too, but now she wondered if maybe she had been wrong._

" _Of course I want to marry you, Mary," he told her, grinning now._

" _Then, what is the problem?" Mary asked him with a frown._

_Francis went silent, looking like he was really thinking about it._

" _Okay," he finally said with another smile, "if you still want to marry me when we're older, then I will marry you."_

" _Of course I will still want to marry you, silly," Mary told him with a giggle._

_Francis looked happy, but he still didn't quite seem convinced yet._

" _Francis," Mary told him, trying to look serious, like all the grownups in her life, "I promise you that I will remember this moment; and I promise you that one day I will come back to France, and we will get married."_

_And so Francis smiled, and he gave her a hug, and he kissed her hand, and then they spent the rest of the afternoon sitting under the tree, fashioning wedding rings out of twigs and fallen leaves, and taking turns to practice proposing to each other formally, like all the adults in the royal family did…_

Mary was back in the present, still kissing Francis, holding on to him for dear life.

She blinked a few times, wondering how she had ever forgotten that memory; she wondered what terrible moment had happened around the same time to cause her to repress it; she thanked God and whoever else might have brought that memory back to her that she had finally been able to unlock it. She felt almost complete, as though a part of herself that she'd lost over the years had finally slid back into place.

_Who has the key to your heart?_ Conde had asked her.

Mary placed her hand over the key as Francis kissed her more slowly now, the kiss becoming a lot more gentle.

When he pulled away, Mary had to resist the urge to chase after his lips with hers.

Luckily, he didn't move too far away. His hands were still on her face, and he was gazing right into her eyes, a look of wonder on his face, as though he couldn't believe that this had just happened; as thought he was trying to memorise every detail.

He was crying, Mary realised. She had never seen him cry before.

As he moved a hand to brush away a tear from _her_ cheek, Mary realised that she too was overcome with emotion. She'd been so lost in the moment that she hadn't even noticed when the tears started to fall.

Time seemed to stand still as they continued to hold each other, their lips only inches apart, Francis gently brushing a few stray white petals out of Mary's hair.

"This," Francis told her in answer to a question that Mary had almost forgot. It felt like he was whispering his secrets to her, and to this place where they had shared so many happy moments. " _You._ "


	18. Chapter 18

Mary couldn't stop herself from smiling as she walked through the grand hallways of the French castle, on her way back to her room after her encounter with Francis in the royal gardens.

She knew that it was against royal protocol to grin like a teenager with a crush in the middle of a castle, but she couldn't help it. She still felt a little dazed, and disorientated; it was like everything was happening in slow motion.

As she pressed her finger to her lips, Mary replayed her kiss with Francis over and over in her mind.

Then she thought about the moments just after the kiss, when they had stood still in each other's arms, staring into each other's eyes, the two of them apparently reluctant to move away. She thought about the awkward mutterings about how they should probably get back to the castle; the nervous laughter just before they parted, the two of them apparently still in a state of disbelief over what had just happened.

Now, as she strolled through the long corridors, with sunlight streaming into all of the castle windows, Mary felt like she was walking on air.

* * *

The feeling lasted for as look as it took her to return to her room.

The first thing she noticed as she approached the room was that the door was wide open. Mary frowned. She was almost certain that she hadn't left the door open like that.

Almost reluctantly, she headed inside. When she stepped into the room, Mary noticed a newspaper article which had been displayed on her dressing table. Slowly, she walked towards it.

She could almost feel her blood run cold as she read the words of the article…

_Royal Wedding Brought Forward!_ the headline declared.

With her heart pounding against her chest, Mary continued to read the 'breaking news' about how Prince James and Lady Kenna had announced that they would be moving the date of their wedding ceremony forward to next Saturday.

Mary shook her head in disbelief. Next Saturday. That meant that James and Kenna's wedding was less than a week away!

She thought of Kenna, crying about how James didn't really love her. She thought of James, with that pained look on his face that day by the river when the two of them had talked about arranged marriages.

Mary had always assumed that the wedding would not take place for months, maybe even a year. What had provoked this decision? There had to be more to it than simple convenience of wedding dates.

"Perhaps your family has lost all confidence in _your_ matchmaking process?"

Mary jumped at the sound of the voice from behind her. She really had to struggle to hide her gasp of fright at being startled like that. For a moment, she was back in the dark alleyway in Scotland, with a masked stranger creeping up on her and threatening her…

Slowly, Mary turned around. Catherine was leaning against the bedroom wall a few feet away from the door, with her arms folded and her eyebrows raised.

Mary struggled to compose herself. She hadn't even noticed that Catherine was in the room. The queen had managed to sneak up on her again. Mary knew that she would have to be more alert, more ready, better able to defend herself. She could not afford to be taken by surprise anymore.

"What do you want?" Mary asked her, trying to sound cool and dignified, rather than absolutely terrified.

She couldn't help playing the words that Catherine had just said over in her mind. Was her matchmaking process truly going so badly that her parents had had to take other, more drastic measures to ensure stability in Scotland? Was all of this her fault? Had James had any say in this? Where would the wedding leave Mary and Francis when they returned to Scotland?

Finally, Catherine let out a sigh, as though Mary's question was merely a mild irritation to her. "Francis has to stay for another night here in France," said Catherine, her expression unreadable.

"And why is that?" Mary asked her with folded arms as she tried to keep her voice level while trying not to sound like a petulant child. The wave of disappointment that ran through her took her by surprise. It struck her that she did not want to return to Scotland without Francis, not after what had just happened between them.

"His father thinks it would be beneficial for him to attend the Diplomat's Ball at the castle tonight," Catherine told her, still giving nothing away in her expression or her tone of voice. "Francis's appearance may help to soothe a few diplomatic relations in France that seem to have been neglected since your…television show began," she finished with a look of distaste. "And of course, duty will always come first for a future king…"

Mary rolled her eyes. From what she had seen in gossip magazines, the Diplomat's Ball mainly consisted of the rich and famous of Europe showing up on the red carpet outside 'Chateau Valois' so that the tabloids could speculate on all of the current celebrity romances and judge everybody's outfits. Mary really couldn't see why it was so important for Francis to attend.

"Of course," said Catherine, "you are welcome to stay and attend the event with Francis…" Her tone of voice suggested that Mary would not be welcome at all. "But it seems you may have more…urgent business to attend to back home…"

She inclined her head in the direction of the news article.

Catherine had deliberately placed that article on the table, Mary realised. The queen had wanted her to see it today. She was happy for an excuse to get Mary out of the way in time for tonight's ball.

Catherine was definitely up to something, but Mary knew that she could not wait any longer to return to Scotland. Whatever had happened back home to bring about this early wedding, her brother needed her. Her mother needed her…

Mary felt a fresh wave of dread as a new thought occurred to her-had her mother's condition got worse? Was her older brother's coronation imminent? Was that why he needed to be married this week? So that he and Kenna could project a stable image of a king and a queen, ready to rule their country? Was everything about to change in Scotland?

Mary knew that she must return home, and soon. For perhaps the first time in her life, the pull of duty felt stronger than the need to settle petty scores with French rivals.

"You must promise me that Francis will return to Scotland tomorrow," she told Catherine through gritted teeth. The idea that the queen would try some new devious tactic to keep Francis away from Scotland was making her feel physically sick.

Catherine didn't answer her. She started walking in slow circles around the room, picking up the newspaper article to examine it along the way.

As she walked past Mary, she stopped and looked her up and down. "That dress really suits you," she muttered, a tone of surprise in her voice, as though she had only just noticed that Mary was wearing the pink dress that she had left for her as a 'gift'.

Mary said nothing. She watched Catherine suspiciously, like she was a tiger who could pounce at any moment. Yet for a moment, an oddly maternal expression seemed to cross Catherine's face. Mary was reminded of the Catherine of her childhood, who would watch her and Francis with a fond expression on her face.

"It's not easy, having a son who is an heir to the throne of such a powerful country," Catherine told her with a sigh. "Especially when that son could potentially marry a princess from a rival country…"

Mary frowned, unsure where Catherine was going with this little speech.

"Oh, it's easy for Henry, of course," Catherine continued as she picked up her pacing around the room. "But what security is there for me, after my husband has gone? No regency, no defined role…Can you imagine the humiliation of being turfed out of my own home by a daughter-in-law from a _weaker_ country…"

Mary watched her for a few moments, trying not to let the surprise show on her face. Was this a rare moment of vulnerability from the queen?

"I will not throw you out of your home," said Mary. If that was what all of this was about, then perhaps the problem could be resolved.

"The first thing you will learn if you are handed a throne," said Catherine, her expression harsh again, "is that not all promises can be kept. Circumstances change; sacrifices have to be made; pieces have to be moved around on the chessboard. Your brother knows that all to well," she added with another nod in the direction of the news story. There was almost a hint of pity in her tone. "Do not make promises that you have no power to keep."

With that, she turned on her heel and started to head out of the room.

Just before she left, Mary heard her say, "I will ensure that Francis is back in Scotland by tomorrow."

Yet, after Catherine's speech about broken promises, Mary wasn't sure that she could put any faith in the queen's words.

* * *

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as several members of Catherine and Henry's team of staff helped Mary to pack her belongings for her return to Scotland.

This time, Mary was not lost in happy haze of post-kissing joy; she struggled to focus as she thought about the newspaper article announcing James's upcoming wedding, and all the royal duties she would no doubt have to undertake over the next few days.

For many reasons, Mary had never warmed to the idea of James and Kenna as husband and wife. A part of her had hoped that the ceremony would be put off for as long as possible; that maybe it would take years before they all had to face the reality of it, but it seemed that Mary couldn't run from reality any longer.

And of course, where would the wedding preparations leave the matchmaking show?

Then, Mary thought about Catherine's announcement that Francis would be staying in France for another night. Mary didn't trust the queen, and she wondered what her true motivation was in getting her son to stay behind…

* * *

In what seemed like no time at all, Mary was walking down the stone steps at the front of the castle, heading in the direction of the car that was waiting to take her to the airport.

She couldn't help glancing over her shoulder as the large front doors started to close behind her. She thought about how much had changed during her short stay at the French castle; she thought about all of the secrets she had discovered-some of them good, some of them bad.

The doors seemed to close with a very final-sounding slam. A part of her wondered if she would ever see the inside of the castle again.

Still looking over her shoulder, Mary couldn't help noticing that both Catherine and Henry were looking out of the castle windows; looking down on her; watching her…

"Mary!"

Mary stopped on her way to the car at the unmistakable sound of Francis's voice.

She turned around in time to see Francis running towards her, still looking a little dishevelled. It seemed his royal staff had not had the time to dress him up for this departure. Mary felt a strange flood of relief wash through her. She hadn't even been sure that Francis would say goodbye to her today.

He reached out to take her hands as he approached. He still looked a little nervous to be around her, and the idea made Mary blush, too. "Mary," he whispered, now that they were standing close to one another. "I'm so sorry I can't go back to Scotland with you today…" He really sounded like he meant it, too.

"Francis, it's fine," said Mary, although she definitely didn't feel fine. This last-minute change of plans felt very unfair, especially when Mary knew that she would be returning to face a very difficult week. Since their kiss, Mary had felt an unfamiliar but overwhelming need to keep Francis Valois by her side.

Yet, as Catherine would say, as a royal, it was not her place to complain-duty would always come first for royalty. If she married Francis, she would have to get used to him not always being there for her when she needed him.

"I heard about your brother's wedding," said Francis in another whisper. His voice might have sounded soft, sympathetic, but still Mary felt her body snap back to high alert at those words. She was already dreading her first encounter with James when she got back. "I'll take a flight back to Scotland tomorrow," he said. His words sounded almost like a promise.

Mary studied Francis's face. His expression looked sincere. Mary could only hope that he would keep to his word; that nobody would intervene and force him to break this promise.

Francis must have noticed the pained look on her face, because he seemed to be scrambling for a change of subject. He looked her up and down, smiling a little.

Mary had decided not to change out of her pink dress for the flight home. The castle's staff had offered her several more practical outfits to change into, but Mary had refused them. She hadn't been able to bring herself to change out of the dress that she had worn during her first kiss with Francis.

For a moment, Francis's eyes lingered on the ribbon tied around Mary's neck-it seemed that the key, the ring and the house charm were now fully visible-and his expression clouded. His eyes remained fixed for a little while on the wooden ring, his expression suggesting that he recognised it from somewhere…but then he seemed to regain his composure. "You look beautiful," said Francis, and Mary couldn't help but smile when she saw that he looked a little flustered.

Without thinking about it, Mary made the first move and took a step closer to Francis so that she could be the one to initiate a kiss this time. She needed to feel his lips on hers again, one more time before they departed.

Luckily, Francis kissed her back.

Mary felt a small thrill at the thought that the king and queen were probably witnessing this moment from the castle windows.

Everything would be twice as complicated now that she and Francis had added kissing into the mix, Mary was well aware of this fact, but still she couldn't help but enjoy the moment.

Finally, they broke apart. Sadly, Mary felt like the kiss only made it harder to walk away. Still, she tried her best to keep her head held high as she took the final steps towards the car. She would have to accept the consequences of sharing kisses with an heir to a throne.

As the car began its slow journey down the driveway, Mary couldn't help glancing back several times to look at Francis, who was standing by the doors, watching her go.

She tried to ignore the fact that Henry was still standing at the first-floor window, smirking at her as she left. His expression suggested that he had some sort of nasty surprise up his sleeve for when she got back home. Mary sighed. Perhaps it was not Catherine who she should be worried about after all.

* * *

Mary sat by herself on the private jet as it made its way across the skies back to her home country.

In the relative privacy of the far corner of the plane, Mary was finally alone with her thoughts again for a little while.

In spite of her worries about James, and Kenna, and Francis, Mary couldn't help getting lost in her memories as she stared out of the window of the private jet. She allowed herself to fall back into the memory of the day under the tree with the white petals, back when she and Francis were children-a memory that had only opened up to her after her kiss with Francis.

In her mind, she kept walking through the trees on that same day during her childhood. Now that the memory had opened up to her, she was starting to see everything more clearly.

Later that day, she had been heading back towards the castle when she had stumbled upon her mother lying on the ground, unconscious among the trees. Her mother must have been out in the grounds, looking for Mary and Francis, perhaps to tell them that dinner was about to be served, before she had collapsed. Mary hadn't known it back then, but that moment had marked the beginning of the long illness that her mother would have to face for many years.

Mary remembered how she had been so frightened at the time, seeing her mother like that. That was why the memory of that particular day had closed itself off to her; she had been so traumatised by what she had seen in the moments after her time with Francis.

It was painful, even in the present moment, to relive that memory, but now Mary felt strangely in control, facing her memories head on. She finally felt like she had a clearer picture of her past.

For the last few minutes of the flight, she allowed herself to get lost in happier memories-kissing Francis under the tree with the petals falling gently on their heads; dancing with Francis in Paris; proposing to Francis as a child-she had loved him back then, of course she had, how could she have forgotten?

* * *

The skies were grey when the plane touched down on Scottish soil. Mary couldn't help thinking that this was strangely fitting.

Then there was barely any time to think as Mary was rushed from the plane across the airfield and to a waiting car as the rain started to pour down.

As the car made its way back through the Scottish countryside in the direction of the castle, Mary noticed that extra police cars and moody-looking security guards were lining the streets, adding to the general gloomy atmosphere. It seemed that Scotland had stepped up its security. The whole country seemed to be preparing itself for some sort of battle.

* * *

Mary hadn't exactly expected a welcome-back party, but the castle felt strangely empty when she arrived.

She dismissed her team of staff from their duties for the day and then she walked aimlessly through the corridors for a while, trying to look for any clues about upcoming events in Scotland. Yet she was greeted only by empty rooms and an almost deafening silence.

Eventually, Mary gave up and headed to her bedroom. She decided that she was only imagining the sound of footsteps and whispers that seemed to follow her all the way to her room.

* * *

Her room looked exactly as she had left it. It was almost as though it had no idea how much had changed over the past few days.

Still, there was something warm and comforting about being back in a familiar place, especially when Mary noticed that the castle's team of staff had left tea and snacks for her on the little wooden table in the centre of the room.

With a shrug, she sat down at the table and started to pour herself a cup of tea.

Mary had just helped herself to a slice of cake when she was startled by the sound of knocking on the door.

Mary looked up from her plate of food, half expecting her brother to be at the door, but to her surprise, when the door opened, it was her mother standing in the doorway.

"Mary," the queen of Scotland greeted her with a curt nod.

Mary sat still in silence, taking in the queen's appearance. Her mother looked weak, and frail. Her complexion was pale, and she was definitely losing weight. She even seemed a little unsteady on her feet as she walked towards the table in the middle of the room.

Mary was tempted to cry out, "Mother, you are not well!" but she knew that the queen wouldn't appreciate a comment like that. Still, Mary continued to watch her mother suspiciously as she sat down at the empty seat opposite Mary at the table. Her mother hardly ever showed up at her room for a friendly chat.

"How was France?" her mother asked her.

Mary had just started to launch into a robotic-sounding response about French royalty and royal protocol when her mother held up a hand to interrupt her.

"No, Mary," said her mother, her tone somehow both gentle and firm, "I mean _how was France_?"

Mary frowned at her in confusion for a few moments. Was her mother genuinely taking an interest in her visit to France?

"I discovered that the country is more beautiful than I first thought," said Mary with a shrug, unsure if that was the kind of answer that her mother was looking for. She wasn't used to sharing personal stories with her family. Then she talked for a few minutes about the trip to Paris.

Luckily, the queen nodded as Mary spoke. She seemed satisfied with her answer.

"I was thinking," said her mother, after a few seconds' pause, "perhaps you should take a day off from royal duties tomorrow?"

Mary frowned at her, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Her mother was not known to be generous with giving days off.

The queen ignored Mary's suspicious expression. "After all, you must be exhausted after your visit to France. And we both know how busy the rest of the week will be in the run up to your brother's wedding. I've heard your friend Greer with be in town for a little while tomorrow. You could go out and spend some time with her, and take an afternoon in the castle for yourself, to relax; prepare yourself for James and Kenna's wedding ceremony…"

In spite of her misgivings, Mary nodded in agreement. The idea of spending time with Greer and being excused from royal duties for a day was just too tempting. But still, she couldn't help wondering-was her mother allowing her the time off as a reward for doing her duty in France, or was she trying to push Mary into the background, to keep the focus on James for the foreseeable future?

Mary was about to ask her mother for more details when she noticed that her mother was watching her closely, almost like she was studying her, trying to work something out...

"What has changed about you?" her mother finally asked her.

Mary looked down at herself, almost as though she could find some sort of clue to enable her to answer her mother's question.

"Nothing has changed about me," Mary insisted. Surely her time away in France had not changed her, had it?

Her mother didn't look convinced. She didn't push Mary any further, but she continued to watch Mary through narrowed eyes for the next few minutes as they made small talk about the weather and Mary's flight home from France. Mary was grateful that her mother didn't ask where Francis was. Perhaps she already had her suspicions that Francis wouldn't be returning.

* * *

Finally, her mother left her alone.

Mary knew that she should feel tired after a long couple of days in France, but she felt too restless to take a nap.

For a little while, she paced up and down the room, driving herself crazy with thoughts about Francis, and what he was doing now, and thoughts about her mother, who looked so ill, and her worries about James. What must have been going through his head, when he made the decision to get married at the weekend?

Unable to take the pacing any longer, Mary headed over to her desk. She found her sketch book with its blue cover and its red heart in one of the desk drawers and she opened it up to a blank page.

She started to sketch, her hand working faster than her mind-it was as though a part of her was desperate to put her inner thoughts on paper.

She ended up sketching a picture of herself as she had looked on the night of the attack on the French castle two years ago-wearing her Venetian mask and a black dress and heavy makeup; disguised, mysterious, a smug look on her face that suggested that she knew something that others didn't. It was almost painful for Mary, to sketch a portrait of herself as she was on that night, knowing now the event that lay ahead, but there was something almost cathartic about it, too.

She made a few final adjustments to the sketch, so that she was standing with her hands held up in the air, like a bird in flight…

It was the perfect portrait of a rebel, Mary realised as she held the sketch away from herself and surveyed it.

Mary hadn't planned on adding another sketch to her book after she had finished, but when she noticed the blank piece of paper next to her most recent picture, her hand seemed to act of its own accord and suddenly, she was creating a whole new picture…

She ended up sketching a picture of herself wearing a white lace dress and a tiara. Her hair was up, and there was an almost regal expression on her face. She had a look of her mother, and of James.

In this portrait, Mary was looking out into the distance, as though she was imagining a brighter future; as though she knew exactly what she was doing.

Mary blinked in surprise a few times as she surveyed the finished sketch. Where had that image come from?

Then she looked from one image to the other.

The rebel and the princess. No, the rebel and the queen. Were these true representations of herself? Could she be both? Was the moment about to arrive when she would have to choose between one or the other? Would she have to decide who she really was?

With a sigh, Mary closed her sketch book and locked it away again using the key that she wore around her neck.

She wasn't ready. She wasn't sure if she would ever be ready.

* * *

She spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at her window seat with the old, frayed patchwork quilt that she and James had once sewn together wrapped around her body for warmth.

She had a clear view of the royal grounds from the window. She watched as Lola and Narcisse walked through the gardens. Mary could tell from their body language and their tense expressions that they were in the middle of an argument.

Finally, Lola stalked away from Narcisse, throwing her arms up in the air as she went in apparent frustration, while Narcisse hurried off in the opposite direction.

After that, James and Kenna appeared in the gardens, closely followed by a woman carrying a clipboard who was clearly one of their wedding planners. Mary leaned forward a little, trying to get a closer look at her brother.

James definitely seemed to be putting on a brave face, as he nodded politely while the woman with the clipboard pointed at various parts of the grounds, obviously helping them to plan for a pre-wedding party (an event that was traditionally held in the royal grounds), but Mary noticed that her brother's expression soon soured whenever Kenna and their wedding planner looked away from him.

Every now and again, James seemed to glance in the direction of the wall at the far end of the gardens. It was almost as though a part of him was contemplating jumping over it and fleeing. Mary knew that feeling all too well. She thought about everything that Henry had revealed to her about her brother; all the secrets that he had kept hidden from her for so long. Had James really tried to remove himself from the line of succession a few years ago, or had Henry just been bluffing? Had Mary's mother really refused him, on the grounds that Mary would not be a viable alternative as queen, as Henry had seemed to imply?

Kenna also seemed to be playing her part. She walked around the grounds with her arms linked with James's, smiling up at him whenever any members of staff walked past and glanced at the two of them. But, from a distance above them, Mary could see that Kenna kept looking over her shoulder at Bash, who was working outside, whenever she thought that nobody was watching.

As Mary watched, she felt that all too familiar feeling of emptiness, and loneliness. Thoughts of Francis filled her head.

"I want him to come back to me," she heard herself muttering as she leaned against the glass window, with raindrops gently trickling down the glass pane outside. Mary jumped. Those words both surprised and terrified her.

In the end, she made herself get ready for bed. She pulled her bed covers around herself and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Mary was woken up by the sound of angry shouts that seemed to be coming from outside.

Slowly, she sat up in her bed, feeling a little disorientated.

She blinked a few times and then stared in the direction of the window. She had left it open before she went to bed, and now she could hear the distant sounds of an argument coming from outside.

She could make out the sound of two male voices, and she could hear them both shouting what sounded like accusations at one another.

Mary couldn't possibly have known what the argument was about, but still a part of her feared the worst.

Cautiously, Mary got up out of bed and took slow steps towards the window.

The moment she looked out the window to see what was going on, she felt like her whole body had frozen to the spot in horror…

Francis had returned to Scotland after all, but Mary had no time to feel joy, or relief.

She had arrived at her bedroom window just in time to see Francis throw a punch at Bash.


	19. Chapter 19

Mary ran down several flights of stairs and through the castle's entrance hall as fast as her legs could carry her, focused entirely on getting outside and into the gardens.

Already, her heart was pounding, and she felt like she was gasping for air, but she couldn't stop. She had to get outside; she had to find Francis and Bash; she had to stop their fight. With every step she took, she felt a deep fear that she was being watched; that a journalist or a photographer would step out of the shadows at any moment to document yet another moment of shame for the royal family.

When she burst through one of the entrance hall's back doors that led out to the gardens, she couldn't help gasping in shock as the cold air hit her-Mary hadn't had time to get dressed in her hurry to get outside to Francis and Bash, and she was still wearing her pyjamas. She had just about managed to put on a pair of slippers and throw the nearest object she could find over her shoulders in an attempt to keep warm-her old patchwork quilt-before she'd sprinted out of her room. She knew that she must look ridiculous, but she didn't care; she had other things to worry about right now.

It didn't take look for her to notice Francis and Bash. They were still fighting, the two of them attempting to throw more punches at each other as they shouted insults. Mary had no idea what had provoked this fight-she wasn't sure she wanted to find out-but she knew she had to put a stop to it before anyone could take any pictures of the event and sell it to the papers.

"Bash! Francis! Stop!" Mary called out as she ran towards them.

The two young men were apparently so engrossed in their fight that they seemed oblivious to Mary's arrival at first. Bash shoved Francis, almost knocking him to the floor until Francis found his footing and tried to shove Bash in return.

Perhaps foolishly, Mary ran in between the two of them, attempting to push them apart. "Stop!" she practically screamed, almost ashamed at how terrified she sounded.

But it was true that she was afraid. There had to be photographers and journalists stationed all over the castle, here to cover James's wedding. Not to mention all of the members of the television crew who were staying in the castle to film the show. If this moment was captured by any cameras, they could all be in serious trouble. Everything was already unstable in Scotland, and Mary had been warned that she was being watched; they could not afford another mistake.

The sound of Mary's voice seemed to get their attention. The two of them paused in their fight and stumbled back from one another, both of them staring at Mary with wide eyes.

Mary locked eyes with Francis. He seemed to be gasping for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hair was dishevelled, and there was a cut on his lip.

_What a way to be reunited…_ Mary thought to herself with a sigh, as Francis frowned at her, no doubt shocked at the sight of a princess who was wearing pyjamas, wrapped in an old blanket.

For the past couple of days, Mary had felt like she had been in heaven, dancing with Francis in Paris and kissing him under the tree in the royal grounds, with white petals falling gently on their heads. Now, in this moment, she felt very much like she had crashed back to earth.

Francis's momentary shock didn't last long however, and he soon looked away from Mary, and then Bash and Francis were shouting at each other again.

"How dare you try to interfere with this matchmaking process? Francis practically spat at Bash, his voice full of an anger that Mary had never really heard from him before. "Do you _really_ think it was a wise idea to propose marriage, given the current circumstances in Scotland…?"

"And why is that?" Bash retorted, his expression furious. "Does your rank mean that you alone are 'allowed' to marry Mary?"

Mary felt a cold sense of dread as she slowly started to work out what the fight was all about. Henry had said something to Francis about Mary threatening to marry Bash, Mary just knew it. Of course. Why wouldn't he do something to over-complicate things, to pay Mary back for her outburst in his office?

Francis glared at Bash. It seemed like he had wrongly worked out that Bash had proposed to Mary, and Bash seemed quite happy to let him continue to think that.

Henry must have told the story to Francis that way, in order to cause problems between Francis and Bash; in order to put yet another divide between Mary and Francis.

" _Regardless of whether you marry Francis, or Sebastian, you will still be marrying one of my sons…"_

The words that the king had said in his office seemed to echo around Mary's head. What did those words really mean? She had barely had time to think about it. Yet another secret, another lie, another complication.

Francis was shaking his head. "You have no idea about the situation in Scotland; how unstable both countries are right now; all you care about is your own selfish needs!"

Bash was still glaring at Francis. "And all you care about is power, you entitled son of a-"

"Francis! Bash! Please!" said Mary, her voice shaking as their angry words jolted her back to the present moment. " _I_ was the one who suggested the possibility of marriage!" she admitted.

Even as the words left her lips, Mary was sure that she was going to regret them. Francis recoiled as though somebody had slapped him, and a look of…hurt definitely crossed his face.

Mary felt a bit guilty at that reaction. Since their kiss in France, Mary had started to wonder if something _real_ was happening between her and Francis now; if perhaps true, romantic feelings had started to grow. And, perhaps Francis had started to feel the same way. But now, Mary felt like she was throwing all of those moments right back in Francis's face by telling him that she had suggested getting married to Bash.

But Mary could not allow Bash to take the blame for whatever false information King Henry had told his son. Bash had not actually proposed to Mary, yet if he was accused of this, he did not have the luxury of any royal protection like Mary and Francis did. Mary could also not admit that she had been bluffing about marrying Bash, because then Bash might leave the castle for good, and Mary would lose what little leverage she had against the king of France.

Bash looked confused by Mary's words. He opened his mouth as though to ask her something while Francis looked like he was about to demand some sort of explanation from the two of them-

"What is going on here?"

Mary was distracted at the sound of another voice coming from across the gardens.

Bash and Francis paused for a moment as Mary looked over her shoulder to see her brother running towards the three of them.

James stopped right in front of Mary, one hand holding her back as he held his other hand out as though ready to physically stop the fight if necessary. Ever the protective brother, in spite of the look of fury on his face.

Mary had no doubt that he was convinced that she was responsible for this fight; sometimes, it seemed like he only thought she was capable of making a mess of everything. Yet Mary noticed that there was also another look on his face, too; he looked tired, wary; he looked like he was fed up with all of this.

"Francis. Sebastian. I advise you to separate," he said, his tone barely managing to be polite. He could not really order a future king of France around, but the expression on his face suggested that his statement was not a request.

Mary noticed that a few of James's guards were walking around in the distance, watching the scene like they were ready to step in if James could not get a handle on the situation.

With a wary look over at the guards, Francis and Bash took a few steps away from each other.

"Sebastian, go back to work," James mumbled as Francis turned and took rapid steps in the direction of the castle, still taking deep breaths as he went.

A few of Francis's guards were waiting for him just inside the doors, and Mary noticed that there was a distracted look on his face as he headed inside. He seemed to be lost in thought, and he did not give her a backward glance.

"Mary, we're going back inside," James told her in a bossy tone of voice, a look of obvious disapproval on his face at the idea that Mary was outside in the first place, dressed only in her pyjamas.

As James started to lead her in the direction of the door that would take them back into the castle, Mary looked over her shoulder at Bash, who was taking his time walking back towards the stables.

"You don't have to marry him," said Bash as Mary looked him in the eye. "There is always a way out…"

* * *

Mary barely registered where she was going as James led her back through the castle.

It was only as the two of them walked into the television room that Mary started to snap out of the trance that she had been in.

"I have to talk to Francis," Mary said straight away. She wasn't even sure where those words had come from, but she was sure that she hadn't wanted her reunion with Francis after his return from France to go like that. All night she had waited to see if he would return, and now that he was back in Scotland, they had barely said two words to each other, and Francis and Bash had been fighting, and Francis now believed that Mary had proposed to Bash at some point during the matchmaking process…

"Not now, Mary," said James, a hint of irritation in his voice. "The three of you need some time apart to cool off…"

Mary was in too much of a state of shock to offer much protest. She sat down on the nearest sofa, still shivering in spite of the heating in the room, wrapping her patchwork blanket around herself for warmth.

A news report was playing on the television in the room about yet another riot near Edinburgh, but James quickly switched the television off. He asked several staff members who were in the room to go and fetch tea and water for Mary, but Mary had a feeling that he had done this as an excuse to get everybody out of the room.

Within minutes, Mary's mother arrived in the room, dressed smartly in a grey suit, a clipboard in her hand. Automatically, Mary rolled her eyes. Of course, this was going to turn into some sort of 'crisis meeting'. Her mother and her brother would give her a lecture about royal protocol, and then there would be a publicity stunt to smooth things over.

"What was going on outside?" Mary's mother asked her as she folded her arms and frowned at Mary.

"I have no idea," said Mary, trying to keep her expression neutral, her voice monotone.

"Mary," said the queen with a sigh, "Scotland is in dire straits right now; our every move is being scrutinised; the media is trying to dig up dirt to use against us; if that…fight…was about anything other than two young men simply letting off steam after a stressful week then now would be the time to share-"

"How is any of this my fault?" Mary snapped. Within moments, she was on her feet, her expression no doubt furious.

Her mother looked taken aback by Mary's angry words, and Mary couldn't help feeling a little ashamed. She knew that she looked and sounded like a child who was having a tantrum.

In the end, she sighed heavily and sat back down, admitting defeat, this time.

She placed her head in her hands and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

When she finally looked up, she noticed that her mother was sitting opposite her, her head in her hands, her body language almost mirroring Mary's.

James stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, looking uncomfortable at having to be in the room with the two of them.

"What has happened?" Mary asked her mother, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

Her mother sighed. "Putting aside a few disastrous news articles recently, we have political issues at the moment, too. The Scottish Prime Minister will not budge on the budget negotiations, and the English Prime Minister is barely communicating with us. Ideally, I would go to Edinburgh and London for a couple of days to negotiate with them, but with the preparations for the wedding this week, and…other circumstances, there is simply not enough time-"

"I will go," said Mary, without a second's thought for what she was agreeing to.

Her mother raised her eyebrows, looking surprised. "I'm sorry?"

"I will go to Edinburgh, and to London," Mary answered, surprising even herself with those words.

Her mother looked shocked at Mary's suggestion, and James looked very uncertain about the idea of sending his younger sister away to London and Edinburgh in the run up to his wedding. Perhaps he feared that Mary would not return.

Mary's mother seemed to study her for a long time. It was as though she was silently weighing up her options.

"Then that is settled," said her mother, ignoring the way that James was looking at her in wide-eyed shock. "You will go to London and Edinburgh and attempt a political negotiation. You will have one day tomorrow to prepare, and then you will leave the following morning. I can only allow you two full days and one night, and then you must return in time to prepare for your brother's wedding."

Mary nodded in agreement. She knew that the trip would be hard work, and tiring, but a part of her felt relieved at the prospect of getting to go; at being trusted with this task. She knew that she could dismiss this as an offer to make up for the incident that had just happened in the garden, or put this down to the prospect of getting away from the castle for a few days, to avoid a few of the wedding preparations, but another part of her felt the call of responsibility; she really wanted these negotiations to go well; she felt like this visit to Parliament would be some kind of test.

Her mother gave a nod, like the decision was final.

Mary had just dared to allow herself to hope that the matter of Francis and Bash's fight would not be mentioned in light of this recent decision, but then-"

"Of course," said the queen, "we also have a few issues to take care of with regards to the matchmaking show…"

Mary took a few deep breaths, steeling herself for whatever her mother was about to say.

"That behaviour, outside in the castle grounds, was not acceptable, Mary," said the queen, her tone firm, final. "It cannot happen again."

Mary nodded her head, ready to agree to anything so that they could move on from this discussion.

Her mother sighed, and then she shared a look with James, as though the two of them were silently deciding on how much they should say to Mary right now.

"My plan is to continue with the show for as long as possible, perhaps with a little more assistance from your PR team to get things under control again after this morning…but, I also feel it is my duty to share with you," said her mother, now sounding very hesitant, "that a Louis Conde has expressed an interest in dating you…"

Mary shook her head, unable to process what her mother was telling her. She continued to glare at her mother suspiciously.

"In fact," said the queen, "he has put himself forward as a potential suitor for you. His only condition would be that you remove yourself from the matchmaking show before you start to date him…"

"Why are you telling me this?" said Mary, feeling an irrational, unexplained anger starting to boil up inside her. All of the effort, all of the heartache that Mary had gone through, and only for her mother to try to completely change the game just before the last round.

"I am simply giving you options; giving you a _choice_ ," said her mother with an irritated-looking frown. "A possible way out, just like we agreed. We can no longer deny that James will soon be king, and now I need you to consider your own future, too; your own security. I would have thought that you would have been _thrilled_ at the possibility of escaping from the television show..."

_But why now?_ Mary wanted to scream at her. _Why now, when I am already in so deep? Why now, when my heart is involved in this show, along with my head? Why now, when it is almost too late?_

Her mother held up her hands in what looked like a gesture of surrender. "I am simply offering you an alternative, Mary, should everything with Francis not work out over the next few days. We are all under a lot of pressure with the upcoming wedding, and I cannot afford another humiliation, along with a lost alliance. Conde has a lot to offer; he has political links in London and abroad; he has connections to the British royal family; he has access to money that could be used to aid the crown-"

"Stop. Just stop," said Mary through gritted teeth. She pulled her tattered blanket tighter around her body, as though it could truly offer her any kind of protection; as though she could simply hide away in a patchwork cocoon and emerge when this nightmare was over.

She could not bear this any longer; weighing up men on the basis of their political power and connections and wealth. She could not stand the feeling of weakness at not having this power for herself; she hated that her feelings and her emotions were disregarded, looked down on in this matchmaking game. And, after her kiss with Francis, Mary was not so sure that she could simply put her feelings for him to one side.

Luckily, her mother didn't push her any further. She got to her feet with a sigh (Mary didn't miss her mother's wince of obvious pain as she tried to stand up gracefully), and simply said, "I just want you to think carefully about your options. But for now, go and enjoy your afternoon with Greer. Tomorrow, we will discuss the show, and your visit to Parliament."

"I want to see Francis by the end of today," said Mary quickly, before her mother could leave the room. Her tone of voice was firm, commanding. She did not say out loud that this was a condition of her behaving herself for the next few days, carrying on with the filming of the show and quietly preparing for James's wedding while she played the role of the good little princess who was on a negotiation mission in Parliament, but she was sure that her tone of voice was enough to make this unspoken condition clear.

"I will try to arrange for Francis to speak with you by the end of the day," said the queen. With that, she walked out of the room, leaving Mary and James alone.

"Mary," said James, the second their mother had left, "I think you should accept Conde's offer…"

"What?" said Mary, unable to keep the shock out of her voice.

"This…this matchmaking show, everything with Francis," he said, now sounding slightly hysterical, "it's clear it's not working out."

"And how would you know that?" said Mary as she cast her old blanket to one side and got to her feet, feeling that now all too familiar rush of anger. "You are judging the whole show based on one minor disagreement in the gardens…"

"You and I both know that it goes beyond that one fight," said James, that bossy-older-brother tone back in his voice that had always irritated Mary so much.

Before Mary could say anything else, James sighed and reached for a few documents that were piled up on the coffee table in the room.

As Mary frowned at him, still feeling confused, James handed over several pieces of paper to her.

With shaking hands, Mary looked down to see a few printed-out news articles, all of them focused on last night's Diplomat Ball in France, the ball that Catherine had thought it was so important for her son to attend.

There were pictures of the event in every news article, and almost every picture seemed to feature Francis and Olivia, standing close together, smiling as they posed for the photographers.

Mary felt her hands begin to shake. The pages in her hands might as well have gone up in flames, because Mary felt like she would get burnt if she held them for too long.

"This is nothing," said Mary as she put the pieces of paper back down on the coffee table, glad to finally get them out of her hands. "This is just another one of Catherine's games, designed to get to me, to keep me away from her son…"

Mary felt like she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince her brother. Rationally, she knew that Catherine had been planning on doing something devious like this as soon as Mary was out of France and far away in Scotland, but still, it hurt, seeing Francis in photos with another woman so soon after Mary and Francis had kissed goodbye yesterday afternoon. But she could not let that hurt show on her face; especially after so many people had warned her that this was one of the perils that came with dating a prince.

"Regardless of whether this has been set up by Catherine," said James, his expression agitated, "I think you should take this as a clear message, Mary; Francis is still considering other options; the French royal family are still making plans in case this matchmaking process does not work out, and I think that it would be wise for you to do the same."

Mary shook her head, trying and failing to push her anger down. "Why are you and Mother doing this to me now, James?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice level. "After you both practically forced me into this show; after you have barely allowed me any breathing space for weeks, let alone any possibility of escape, and now all of a sudden you want me to forget any of it ever happened and just walk away from all of this, from the show, from my life as a royal?!"

Mary felt furious tears well up in her eyes, but she fought them down. She could not cry, not now; not when she was so angry.

"Mary," said James as he watched her with wide eyes, before he shook his head. "I am doing you a favour in allowing a match with Conde!"

Mary sighed to herself as James continued to talk, feeling a sense of despair wash over her. James didn't get it. He was never going to get it…

" _I_ am taking on the burden of an arranged marriage and an unstable kingdom," he continued, "but now _you_ don't have to!"

Mary watched him, horrified. There was almost a crazed look in her brother's eyes. It seemed that the pressure was truly getting to him.

"Mother was right-you should be happy at the chance of a way out of all of this. Accept Conde's offer; remove yourself from the show and an arranged marriage; get away from the constraints of life in the castle, Mary, and…and save yourself from this mess!"

"You don't understand!" Mary finally screamed at him, unable to hold back her anger any longer. "How could you _possibly_ understand?"

James jumped, and then an expression of shock, or maybe even horror crossed his face. Mary _never_ shouted at him like this; her angry outbursts were always saved for her parents. For years, there had been an unspoken agreement between sister and brother that they were in this mess together; that they had to defend each other against everyone else in this strange world of theirs. For all of their minor disagreements, Mary had never pushed things too far with her older brother. But all of that was over now. Mary could feel something break between the two of them as they glared across the room at each other. They might as well have been standing miles apart; already, they were standing in two different worlds.

"You have no idea about love, or feelings, or emotions, James! You only care about pretending to do what is right while you sneak around Scotland and France, keeping secrets!"

Mary hadn't wanted to say any of this to James, but now she couldn't hold back her words.

"What are you talking about?" said James, his look of irritation only goading Mary further.

"You think you will be such a hero," Mary practically snarled at him, "marrying Kenna and taking the crown-a crown that you don't even want, with a woman you do not love! But then what will you do, James? Throw you own sister out of her home? Allow all of Scotland to judge me for failing to find love on their television show? Swan around Paris with your mistresses behind your wife's back as you gamble your country into more debt?"

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mary almost wished that she could take them back. But it was too late. The damage had been done.

The look of horror on James's face suggested that Henry had been completely right in all of the secrets he had so maliciously shared with Mary about her brother.

"Get out," said James, turning away from Mary, like he couldn't stand to look at her right now.

"Gladly," said Mary, still trying to keep what was left of her dignity as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the old patchwork blanket behind on the sofa; the blanket that Mary and James had once sewn together was now so frayed that Mary was sure it was damaged beyond repair.

* * *

Mary almost felt relieved at being able to escape the confines of the castle at midday.

As she took slightly unsteady steps down the castle's front drive, in the direction of the large front gates, she tried to ignore the fact that her hands were still shaking, and her breathing still felt heavier than normal.

Yet, as she headed through the tiny village not far from the castle, on her way to meet her best friend, she decided that she was going to try to forget the morning's events, at least for the next few hours, anyway, and she was instead going to pretend that she was just a typical eighteen-year-old girl. She had even dressed in casual clothes this afternoon-black jeans and boots and a red jumper, with her hair tied up loosely into a bun, trying to look as 'normal' as possible. In fact, if it hadn't been for the team of castle guards who were following her from a short distance away, Mary would almost have passed for just another teenage girl who was strolling through the village.

* * *

She shivered as she entered the village; she wasn't sure if it was due to the cold weather, or the strange, tense, atmosphere that seemed to be in the air today. A lot of people were talking in low voices, averting their eyes from Mary and her guards, or looking down at the ground as they hurried along past her. Mary wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but everybody seemed to have something to hide.

When she finally spotted Greer, who was waiting for Mary outside the local village pub, Mary was more than happy to see a familiar face.

"Greer!" she shouted as she abandoned all royal protocol and ran towards her friend to hug her.

"Mary, it's so good to see you!" said Greer as she hugged her back.

For the first time all day, Mary was actually able to smile, even though her smile felt a little forced after everything that had happened in the morning.

She couldn't help noticing however that Greer looked a bit sad. Mary was almost afraid to ask her friend if anything was wrong.

Instead, she settled on asking her friend where she wanted to go to get something to drink. Greer simply shrugged and told Mary that she could choose. And so, Mary started to lead her in the direction of the one place she knew very well in the village.

Greer seemed amused by Mary's choice of the local village pub. She giggled as she looked at the large Scottish flag, and the old paintings, and the groups of older men who were huddled around tables, playing poker.

As Mary led Greer towards a table near the back of the room, she spotted Narcisse, who was back at the pub again, talking in hushed tones with a group of men. He only managed a quick nod at Mary as she walked past his table, but Mary continued to watch him suspiciously for a few moments. Why was he here again, acting so secretive? What had his recent argument with Lola been about?

For about half an hour, Mary managed to enjoy her drinks with Greer in relative peace. They laughed and joked about their school days and life in London while Mary tried her best not to think about Francis and Bash's fight in the gardens, or her argument with James, or the photos of Francis and Olivia that were no doubt all over the Internet by now…

A few times, Greer tried to ask Mary what was wrong, but Mary brushed off her questions, putting her guard up, the way she always did.

Eventually, Greer's expression grew serious. "Mary," she said, "Aloysius has been offered a presenting job at a top television studio in London…"

"Greer!" said Mary with a smile. "That's wonderful news!" Mary knew from listening to the kind of people who her mother spent time with that television jobs in London were lucrative; Aloysius and his family would have the benefit of the financial security that went with that kind of job.

"It is good news, isn't it?" said Greer with a smile. "However, it means that it would be more practical for us to relocate to London. Aloysius and I are planning on moving there with the children…after he has finished his final filming for your brother's wedding, and the last episode of the matchmaking show, of course."

"Oh," said Mary, as her smile faltered a little.

Of course, Mary should have anticipated that this would happen. It made sense, for Aloysius to relocate to London, to be close to work, but still, now that Greer was saying it out loud, it made it all seem so real. Greer would be moving permanently to London. Even further away from Mary than she was now. Over the past couple of years, it had been difficult for Mary to see Greer when she had been living in Scotland; but with her living in England, Mary was sure that she would see her even less. Not to mention that Greer's words had just reminded Mary that Aloysius was waiting to film the finale of the matchmaking show; that the country was still waiting for Mary's decision on who she wanted to marry, and soon.

"Greer, I'm so happy for you," said Mary, as she tried her best to smile at her concerned-looking friend.

Mary was thrilled for Greer, she really was, but still she felt like she was putting on a brave face as they finished their drinks. With her brother not talking to her and her best friend moving away, Mary now felt an almost overwhelming sense of loneliness.

* * *

In spite of everything, Mary tried to spend an enjoyable afternoon with Greer. They walked around the village, talking and gossiping the whole way about Mary's visit to Paris with Francis, calling into some of the shops with royal guards in tow, and stopping at a few more pubs and coffee shops for drinks as Greer showed Mary pictures of some of the houses she had been looking at in London.

All too soon, the afternoon was over, and Mary and Greer stood on the outskirts of the village to say their goodbyes.

"I'll see you at the wedding on Saturday," Greer whispered in Mary's ear as she hugged her, serving as a painful reminder to Mary that they would all be attending James's and Kenna's wedding in a matter of days.

* * *

Almost reluctantly, Mary started to walk back in the direction of the castle, with her guards still keeping a reasonable distance as they walked behind her.

A few groups of people passed Mary as she walked towards the village signpost. They were all walking close together, their heads bowed as though they had something to hide.

As usual, Mary watched them all curiously from a short distance away. She noticed that a few people in the group had their sleeves rolled up, no doubt to cool down now that the weather was starting to get a little warmer.

Mary's attention was drawn to a few of the tattoos that were currently visible on the arms of some of the men in the group. She squinted, trying to work out what exactly the tattoos were.

She could make out the heads of birds, and a few wings, spread out on bare skin as though facing towards the sky…

Birds in flight…

Suddenly, something in her mind clicked into place.

" _Mary, that's a rebel symbol…"_ Bash had told her.

Mary took off at a run, determined to get back to the castle as quickly as possible. She ignored her guards, who kept asking her why she was running.

* * *

Mary took determined steps towards her mother's office. She wanted to shout, to throw the door open, but she knew that that sort of behaviour would get her nowhere-she could not appear to be irrational, in light of what she had just discovered.

Instead, she settled on knocking on the door almost frantically several times, waiting until her mother called out, "Enter!" before she went in.

Mary was only mildly surprised to see that her father was also in the office today, siting behind the desk and apparently helping his wife with her paperwork.

An expression of concern crossed his face as Mary walked towards the desk.

"Mary, are you all right?" he asked her with a frown, looking like he was only seconds away from offering to make her tea.

"There are rebels, all over the village," said Mary breathlessly, before her father could ask her anything else. Just saying it out loud made the idea seem even more terrifying.

" _You are being watched…"_ that masked person had told her in the dark alleyway.

"I beg your pardon?" said her mother, looking at Mary as though she had lost her mind.

"Rebels," Mary repeated, struggling to compose herself. Perhaps the pressure really had got to her; perhaps she really was losing her mind, seeing things that weren't really there. But for now, she had to assume that everything she was seeing was real. "Here, in the village…so close…I saw them…in groups…by the signpost…"

"Your evidence that these people are rebels?" her mother demanded with a raised eyebrow, apparently not prepared to accept Mary's story just yet.

"I saw their tattoos," said Mary, trying to keep her voice calm, authoritative, even as she realised how strange she must sound. "The bird-in-flight tattoos, on their arms…it's a rebel symbol. Rebels have been plotting against the crown for years, but now there are so many of them, so close; only minutes away, in the village!"

To her surprise, Mary was feeling more than just blind panic right now; she felt a sense of duty, to protect the castle and the crown; to keep her family safe. If there _were_ rebels stationed all over the village, then they would have to do something about defending the castle…

"How do you know what that tattoo represents?" the queen asked her with a frown, ignoring Mary's father's mutterings about how Mary should maybe sit down and get some rest.

"I heard it somewhere," said Mary, trying to sound vague, "or perhaps I read it somewhere, I can't remember..."

_Why are you doing this?_ a voice in her head seemed to be asking her. _Why are you protecting Sebastian?_

Mary wasn't even sure that she had the answers. How had Bash known what the bird-in-flight symbol meant in the first place? Should Mary not say something to her parents about the fact that he understood this symbolism? Would it look suspicious?

And yet Mary held back. She had a feeling that after his behaviour this morning, Bash was only one step away from being dismissed from his job at the castle. Mary could not be the one who was responsible for somebody losing their job, based on just a theory, a coincidence. Still, she knew that she would have to keep a closer eye on Bash; she would have to find out more about him.

"We should station more guards in the village," Mary suggested to her parents, "bring in extra guards outside the castle…"

"Mary," said her mother as she held up her hand, "I can assure you that even if your theory is correct, the castle is well protected. The guards are working day and night to ensure that we are safe," she continued, before Mary could interrupt her, "and I regularly send guards to patrol the village and the local area. Please try to put this out of your mind-I would suggest that you have other things to worry about at the moment…"

Mary sighed, knowing that it was pointless to argue right now; but still, she could not let this drop. The sight of the bird-in-flight had unnerved her; it was a little too close to home. Even if she had to take action herself, Mary would find a way to increase the castle's protection.

"Mary, said her father, his tone of voice softer, more soothing, "it is still your day off-why don't you go and spend some time relaxing in the television room? In fact, I think an episode of the royal matchmaking show is about to start," he continued with a chuckle, "perhaps you would like to see how all the scenes you are filming are put together-I daresay you could use a laugh…"

Mary didn't have the heart to admit that the last thing she wanted to do right now was to watch herself on a dating show. Her father looked so eager for Mary to head to the television room that Mary suspected there was some sort of hidden agenda on his part.

"I'll walk you there," her father offered.

They both knew that Mary was more than capable of walking to the television room on her own, but Mary had a feeling that her father wanted to talk to her about something, so she nodded in agreement.

* * *

For a few minutes, the two of them walked through the castle hallways in silence. Several members of staff greeted Mary's father with a smile as they passed. Her father was kind, and generous, and he was loved by those who worked at the castle, even though they sometimes laughed at his more eccentric behaviour.

"Your brother," her father finally mumbled as they approached the television room, "he has a lot on his mind right now, Mary; I can only ask that you take that into consideration before you judge him too harshly…"

Mary sighed, but she could not bring herself to argue with her father in the way that she would have argued with her mother. "Fine, whatever," she said, hating that she sounded like a petulant thirteen-year-old.

In truth, the memory of her recent argument with James was already causing her to feel an almost physical pain in her chest.

* * *

The moment she stepped inside the television room, Mary noticed that Francis was in there, waiting by the sofa and looking rather handsome in one of his typical white jumpers and casual trousers, with his wavy hair looking slightly dishevelled, as though it had not been formally styled by his team of stylists this afternoon.

Mary had long since realised that she found Francis especially handsome when he was dressed in casual clothes, but she had too much on her mind to really focus on that right now.

She also tried to ignore the fact that the cut on Francis's lower lip was still visible after his fight with Bash.

When Francis noticed her arrival, he bowed to her.

Mary found it rather odd that Francis was still keeping to royal protocol, in light of everything that had happened between them recently, but still she managed to bow in return.

Mary briefly glanced over her shoulder in time to see her father grin at her.

Mary rolled her eyes at him, but still she nodded, silently letting him know that he could leave the room.

The feeling of relief at having Francis close to her again was almost overwhelming. Mary wasn't sure how or when this feeling had crept up on her. Despite everything, Mary was glad that her father had arranged for Mary and Francis to spend some time together today.

As the door closed gently, Francis started to speak: "Mary, I'm so sorry," he said.

Mary wasn't really sure what to say, or what exactly Francis was apologising for-for fighting with Bash? For agreeing to pose for photographs with his ex-girlfriend at a royal event after he had kissed Mary? A part of her was afraid to ask, so she simply nodded. Feeling a little too nervous to look him in the eye, Mary averted her gaze. Her eyes fell on the television screen, where she noticed that an episode of the matchmaking show was about to start.

It was very strange, to see herself on the screen, to know the backstory behind all of the edited moments they showed on television. Up until now, she had been purposely avoiding watching too much of the show.

On the screen, Mary was walking down the stairs into the castle entrance hall, and she quickly realised that this episode was going to document her visit to France.

Francis seemed to be looking at the television, too. "You always knew how to make an entrance," he muttered as they watched while Mary took her final steps into the entrance hall on the screen, then he looked embarrassed, as though he had just said something he shouldn't have said.

Mary couldn't help smiling, in spite of everything. "Will you watch the show with me?" she asked Francis. She had nothing else to do this evening, and it would be nice to sit down and relax, and she knew it would be something of a novelty, to watch the show as a viewer, to see what the rest of Scotland was seeing.

Francis nodded, and the two of them ended up sitting next to each other on the sofa, watching the episode together.

It was definitely strange, Mary decided, to be seated next to the future king of France, the two of them dressed casually as they watched themselves on the screen. The two of them even started to give a running commentary as they watched each scene play out, talking as though they were merely watching other people's lives on the screen and not their own. Mary suspected that they were both deliberately avoiding talking about other issues. On the other hand, Mary also sensed that this was exactly what they needed to break some of the tension between them.

"He should have held her hand," Mary whispered almost teasingly to Francis as they watched the scene that showed the two of them descending the stairs of the private jet just after the plane had landed in France, with Mary looking a little unsteady on her feet and Francis looking back over his shoulder at her, his body language protective.

"Perhaps he is nervous," Francis replied, surprising Mary all over again, as he often seemed to do.

Eventually, the show focused on their day in Paris. Mary watched as one of the scenes showed her and Francis meeting each other outside in the castle grounds, just before they travelled into the capital city. She hadn't even realised that that moment was being filmed, but it seemed that the camera crew had been filming the gardens from one of the upstairs windows.

"Smooth," Francis muttered with a grin as the scene showed Mary awkwardly asking Francis if he thought that she was under-dressed.

Mary pretended to glare at him from her side of the sofa. She knew that he was teasing her. Mary liked it, when she got to see this side of Francis. She would have laughed along with him, if her head hadn't still been full of images of Francis and Olivia, standing side-by-side last night at the Diplomat's Ball.

" _Very_ smooth," Mary mocked him in return as the next scene showed Mary and Francis in the car with Charles and his 'girlfriend' as they made their way to the station. Francis seemed to be very deliberately looking out of the window and away from Mary as Charles held hands with the little girl sitting next to him.

Mary and Francis continued to watch as the next few scenes showed their time in Paris. Mary had to fight off a blush as she watched the two of them walking around the _Louvre_ gallery together-a look of fascination was written all over Mary's face as she listened to Francis talk about the paintings and the portraits.

Still, she felt almost content as she watched all of their moments together in Paris play out on the screen. She had been so happy with Francis that day, just the two of them, together, away from the castle…

"Will you go to Edinburgh and London with me?" Mary heard herself blurt out during a commercial break.

Francis turned to look at her, a very confused expression on his face, and so Mary was left to explain about the upcoming political visit to the two cities that her mother had agreed she could go on, and she asked again if he would accompany her.

"Are you sure?" Francis asked her, sounding a little uncertain.

Mary could hardly blame him. Things had seemed so perfect, when they had been kissing under the tree in the French royal gardens, but since they had both come back to reality, things seemed to have tilted between them again. Francis's photos from the Diplomat's Ball and the confusion about the alleged proposal between Mary and Bash had placed yet more obstacles between them.

"I'm sure," Mary replied. She wanted Francis by her side; she felt like all of her negotiations would be easier if he was there with her. She knew that she was setting a dangerous precedent by even thinking this (she was afraid to get too comfortable around Francis Valois, in case he decided to leave her at the end of the show), but right now, she wasn't thinking about the future.

And, as unprofessional as she knew it would sound if she said it out loud, a part of Mary really wanted to recreate their time together in Paris.

"Then it is settled," said Francis, as the show started up again and the two of them returned to watching the screen.

Francis was going to London and Edinburgh with her. Mary felt more relieved than she knew it was safe to feel at the moment.

It was only when the show ended and a tense silence seemed to descend on them that Mary decided that she wanted to say something to try to clear the air; she could not bear for the memories of recent events to hang over them while they were in Edinburgh and London together.

"Bash and I used to walk past each other sometimes in the village, before this matchmaking process got started," said Mary, speaking quickly before she could change her mind and deciding that she wanted to be as honest with Francis as possible. "I was always happy to see him, even if it was only from a far; he was a reminder that another life existed outside of the castle. I thought that he was handsome. I was happy, when my brother employed him to work at the castle…"

"Mary," said Francis, "you don't have to do this…"

"I want to do this," Mary insisted. "I still want us to be honest with one another, like we agreed…" As Francis nodded, Mary prepared to continue. She wanted to be honest, but she didn't feel ready to ask Francis about Olivia yet; she wasn't sure if she was ready for Francis to be honest with her in return.

"When he gave me his ring as a gift to wear while I was in France, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to imply that there was some kind of engagement agreed on between the two of us, as a bargaining tool to use in 'negotiations' with your father, and my mother," Mary sighed. "Or a threat, if I'm going to be really honest. But it seems as though it has all backfired…"

Francis nodded, accepting her explanation. Mary couldn't help noticing that he almost looked relieved at the idea that there was no definite engagement agreed on between Mary and Bash.

Still, Mary felt like she was not being entirely honest. At the very least, Francis knew some of the story about the ring that Mary wore on the black ribbon on her neck. She was dreading having to tell him the story of the house charm that she also wore around her neck.

"Still, there is…something between the two of you," Francis eventually muttered. "Some kind of attraction. At first, I tried to pretend not to see it, but it is there…"

"Francis, no," Mary interrupted him, not sure why she was in such a rush to deny what he was saying.

"Mary," he said, his voice softer now. "I'm not judging you for it. It's true I lost my temper with Sebastian, and I was angry with him for trying to interfere with my country's…negotiations, but the reality is that you had little choice in being a part of the matchmaking show; I would be naïve to think that you had no other suitors in your life; I would be foolish to imagine that there would be no other men competing for your hand. We both came into this process with a history…"

Mary felt a prickle of discomfort at Francis's words. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that they could both leave their history in the past.

Francis went silent for a little while. Mary guessed that he was trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words.

"Although it goes against all royal protocol for me to say this to you," he finally said, still looking like he was debating saying anything at all, "and perhaps I would not have said this, before your visit to France, but when the time comes for you to make your decision, my only hope is that you don't make that decision based on a crown, or a kingdom, or a political alliance, or on what is good for a country…"

"Meaning what?" Mary asked him with a frown, not really understanding what Francis was asking of her, and feeling like something had changed again in the rules of the royal matchmaking show.

"What I mean," said Francis, now looking a little flustered, and like he was struggling to put his thoughts into words, "if you choose me at this end of this process, I would want you to have chosen me based on what is in your heart, and not based on the crown that I have no doubt you will one day wear on your head."


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, Mary woke up bright and early. Already, she felt wide awake. She was eager to begin preparing for her political visit to Edinburgh and London, but first, she knew that she had other matters to take care of.

After a quick glance outside her window and into the castle gardens, Mary changed into casual clothes and made sure to put on a thick coat with a hood. Discreetly, she slipped out of her room and tiptoed through the castle's halls and down several flights of stairs.

Luckily, the castle was quiet this morning. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she headed out into the castle gardens, walking on the grass and in the direction of the stables.

* * *

Yesterday, Mary hadn't exactly planned on paying a visit to the stables in the morning, but last night, just before she had gone to sleep, she'd been thinking about the people with the tattoos she'd encountered in the village, as well as Bash and Francis's fight, and she'd decided that she wanted to talk to Bash.

Bash was already at work when Mary snuck in through the stable's side door. He only looked mildly startled to see her.

Mary greeted him politely and sat down on one of the nearest wooden benches. He walked away from the grey horse he'd been looking after and moved to sit next to her.

"Mary, I'm sorry," Bash told her the moment he sat down. He looked like he meant it, too.

Mary nodded, accepting Bash's apology for the fight yesterday.

Bash looked like he wanted to discuss yesterday's events even further, but Mary quickly cut him off. "I am worried that there are people congregating in the village who may not exactly be…friendly towards the crown," said Mary, cutting to the chase, while at the same time trying to be diplomatic and not give too much away.

As she spoke, Mary studied Sebastian's reaction. He definitely looked worried by this declaration, she decided. He even seemed to have gone a little pale.

"I was wondering if you could perhaps…keep an eye on the castle grounds while I am away? And, could you also keep a lookout in the local village, if you have the opportunity to go there?"

Bash seemed to study her facial expression for a long time in the silence that followed Mary's question.

Finally, Bash spoke. "Consider it done, Your Grace," he told her with a nod, his face the picture of duty.

"Thank you," said Mary, hoping that she was conveying her gratitude in her voice. She knew it would be useful to have somebody keeping an eye on things in the village; somebody who was not one of the castle guards, who had to do exactly as they were told. Bash had never really seemed the type to follow orders. "Perhaps you could report back to me, if you see or hear anything suspicious?"

She wondered if she was maybe asking for too much, but again, Bash nodded.

Still, Mary felt a little uncertain. She knew that she was taking a risk, in asking him to do this favour for her; she wasn't yet sure whether Bash could be trusted, or whether he was fully loyal to the crown, and there could be repercussions on so many levels; but given the current circumstances, and the fact that she would be away from the castle for at least one full day and one full night, and the fact that she had few allies within the castle walls at the moment, Mary didn't know if she had any other choice; did she truly have many other people who she could turn to?

If her parents weren't going to take the threat of potential rebels seriously, then she would have to. She knew that she couldn't rely on Bash alone though; she would have to find some other backup, as well.

Mary spent the next half hour talking to Bash about how he was settling into his work at the castle. She couldn't help noticing that he talked about his job like it wasn't something permanent; like he wasn't planning on staying around for much longer. Mary didn't know how she felt about that; Bash had been something of a distraction for her since the matchmaking process had got started-a reminder that there was life outside the castle-but she also didn't know him very well. Would she miss him a lot, if he left the castle? At the moment, she felt so confused about everything, and she wasn't sure where Bash fitted into her life.

"I should return to the castle," Mary eventually told him, feeling a little reluctant to go back to her duty.

"Mary?" Bash called out to her, just as she started to head out of the stable door. "I meant what I said yesterday; you have a way out of this process, if you ever want to take it; just say the word, any time, and we could be away from this castle in a matter of hours…"

At a loss for what to say, and not wanting to say the wrong thing, Mary simply nodded at Sebastian before she headed back out into the gardens. She had a lot of work to do over the next few days, and she did not want to have her head turned by the temptation of escape; it was a temptation that was still too great.

As she crept back into the castle, Mary had the strange feeling that Bash already had experience in running away; sometimes it seemed as though he was the kind of person who had lived his whole life on the run.

* * *

When Mary returned to her room, she noticed that a letter had been left on her desk. There was nothing written on the envelope to indicate who the letter was from.

Cautiously, she opened it. She was disappointed but not surprised to find that the letter contained the promised list of demands-no doubt from the King of France, even though the letter was not signed-all the 'rules' that he would expect her to comply with if she married Francis.

Mary felt a fresh wave of anxiety. She had almost forgotten that the king had threatened that he was going to do this during their last meeting. And, by not signing the letter, he had plausible deniability if Mary ever decided to make the contents of the letter public. Quickly, she scanned through the list.

A few of the demands were exactly as Mary had expected: a proportion of the money belonging to the Scottish crown would have to be sent to France; France would have a say in any decisions made by Scotland; France would offer extra security to Scotland in exchange for Scotland's 'compliance' in France's decision-making; Mary would have to dismiss her Publicist from his role; James and Kenna would have to consider Henry's youngest sons as prospects for a royal marriage to any of their heirs in the future.

Then there were a few extra demands that Mary knew she should have anticipated: Mary would have to spend the majority of her time in France carrying out royal duties-Scotland could no longer be her priority; France would have a say in the employment of senior staff in the Scottish castle; if James and Kenna were to have no children, then France would have a claim on the Scottish crown; and, one other surprise demand-Mary would have to dismiss Sebastian from his role in the castle.

Mary sighed. She knew that there was a possibility that Bash was an illegitimate son of Henry's, and yet the king would still see him callously dismissed from his employment, all for the sake of ensuring France's control over Scotland. It just showed what kind of person he was.

These 'demands' would be of no benefit at all to Scotland-whether Mary ended up marrying Francis or not, Scotland would still be in a vulnerable position either way. She couldn't help wishing that she was in a more powerful position within her family; she wished that there was something more she could do to protect Scotland.

As she folded the letter back up, Mary felt yet another prickle of suspicion. She couldn't help wondering how this letter had ended up on her desk, when it contained no address or signature. Again, she started to feel suspicious that somebody in the castle was working undercover on behalf of the French royal family. But who was it?

A knock at the door and a few sentences spoken in a thick Scottish accent indicated that a member of staff had arrived with Mary's breakfast. Her parents had allowed her to eat within the privacy of her room this morning. Mary had hoped that some time spent on her own would help to calm her down before she faced the day ahead, as she had several appointments to keep and she was planning on spending most of the afternoon in the library with Francis, the two of them preparing for the visit together, but already, the arrival of the letter from the king had unnerved her, preventing her from finding any sense of calm.

* * *

After breakfast, Mary met with her mother in the queen's office to discuss the itinerary for the political visit.

Mary was surprised, and pleased, to see that her mother had scheduled in a little free time during the visit-she and Francis would have some time to get lunch in Edinburgh together and walk around the city for a little while, and they would have a small amount of free time to do the same in London the following day. The queen was even going to allow Mary and Francis to take a train back to the caste from Edinburgh on their return from the visit-Mary had always loved travelling by train as a child, taking in the view of the Scottish countryside from the train window, and she was happy that her mother seemed to have remembered that.

But Mary was not ready to express her gratitude just yet-she was still angry with her mother for adding an extra complication to the matchmaking process by suggesting a last-minute political marriage alliance with Conde.

Mary's mother, however, definitely seemed to have other priorities at the moment: "We have to push for more funding for security in Scotland," said the queen as she paced up and down, "and it is perhaps the time to start talking about tougher penalties for those who are inciting violence against the crown and the government…"

Her mother looked tired, but Mary didn't dare point this out, or suggest that her mother should sit down.

Mary sighed. It was a shame, she thought, that the focus of this visit had to be on rebels and security. A lack of security seemed to be the main focus of everything at the moment.

At the very least, the queen also talked to Mary about possible healthcare budgets and education reforms. She even informed Mary that she had sent castle security guards to patrol the village this morning. Mary felt slightly more encouraged, knowing that her mother was at least beginning to take her claims about rebels in the village seriously. Either that, or her mother was giving her some kind of peace offering in exchange for Mary's good behaviour on the political visit.

The moment the meeting was over, Mary started to head out of her mother's office, but her mother called her back to remind her that she had a dress fitting for her bridesmaid dress to attend before she could head to the library.

Unable to help herself, Mary rolled her eyes.

"Mary," said her mother, her expression stern, "no matter what is going on with you and your brother at the moment, you have to remember that the castle will be full of journalists and photographers over the next few days; not to mention that the world will be watching James and Kenna's wedding ceremony. Regardless of your own personal feelings about the wedding, you are to smile, be polite, be enthusiastic; for all intents and purposes, you are _thrilled_ about your brother's wedding, and you are looking forward to the alliance between England and Scotland that this marriage will bring."

"Of course," said Mary, trying and failing to sound sincere, "the show must go on, right?"

The queen didn't answer, but her silence said enough.

* * *

After her meeting with her mother, Mary headed to a room on the top floor of the castle, where her dress fitting had been scheduled.

The room had been converted into a makeshift dressing room, where rows upon rows of dresses were hanging on clothes racks, while a few glittering jewels and accessories were displayed on wooden shelves. A few curtains had been put up for people to change behind, and a huge mirror had been placed right in the middle of the room.

Kenna walked between the racks of clothes, speaking with her assistant about the plans for the upcoming wedding.

Usually, Kenna was in her element when she was surrounded by expensive jewels and designer gowns, but Mary noticed that her mood was a lot less upbeat today.

After Mary had changed into her bridesmaid's dress, she stood in front of the large mirror, taking in her reflection while a dressmaker fussed around her, making a few last-minute adjustments.

Mary was barely aware of her surroundings. She continued to stare at her dress in the mirror. The bridesmaid's dress was bright red in colour, with a lace bodice and sleeves, and a long, flowing skirt.

It was perhaps not the type of dress that she would have ordinarily chosen to wear, and the style was maybe a bit over-the-top, but that was not the reason why she felt so preoccupied at the moment. The sight of herself wearing the red dress was an all-to-poignant reminder that all of this was real; it was actually happening. Kenna and James were going to be married within days. It would only be a matter of time before James and Kenna were the king and queen of Scotland. James's future was already decided, and it therefore wouldn't be long before the people of Scotland expected Mary to inform them what she was going to do with _her_ future. Time was running out to make a decision.

"I know you might think it's a little over the top…"

Mary noticed that Kenna had moved to stand next to her, and Mary could now see both of their reflections in the mirror.

"And I'm not sure if the dress is to your usual taste; but I thought it would look nice on you, and it matches my dress…"

Kenna's tone was not bossy, or judgemental; instead, she sounded a little sad, a little unsure. Mary suspected that she was projecting her anxiety about her upcoming arranged marriage with James onto the little details of the wedding ceremony.

"It looks beautiful," Mary replied after barely a moment's hesitation. She could only hope that her tone of voice was enough to reassure Kenna. "I'm sure your wedding day will be perfect."

Kenna smiled, and her eyes even filled with tears. "Thank you," she told Mary's reflection in the mirror. She sounded sincere, and grateful for the little reassurance that Mary could offer.

Mary felt guilty all over again for disliking Kenna when she had first got engaged to James. Now, Mary almost felt like the two of them were on the same page, facing an invisible battle together. Perhaps they were not so different after all.

"Kenna?" Mary asked her a few minutes later, after she had changed out of her bridesmaid's dress and a sudden idea struck her. "Will you do me a favour and keep an eye on Bash when I'm away from the castle? Watch where he goes, who he talks to? It's difficult to explain why exactly…I just need someone I can trust…"

Mary knew that she was taking a risk in asking something like this of Kenna, but she still didn't fully trust Bash's motives, and she was curious as to whether he would honour her request to keep an eye on things at the castle while Mary was away. Mary wasn't sure who else she could ask this favour of-it felt like she didn't have many trustworthy players left on her imaginary team, and so she would have to put her trust in Kenna.

"Consider it done," said Kenna, now looking more cheerful than she had looked all morning.

* * *

By late afternoon, Mary had already been in the castle's library with Francis for a couple of hours.

She sat in an old wooden chair with her laptop open on the desk in front of her, along with several folders and piles of paperwork.

Francis alternated between sitting at the desk with Mary and pacing up and down behind the desk and in between bookshelves.

Mary knew that she should be entirely focused on politics right now, but she was more than a little distracted. She kept looking at Francis out of the corner of her eye, taking in the casual clothes he was wearing today-a plain white T-shirt and jeans-and thinking yet again about how much she liked getting to see this side of Francis.

Since her conversation with Francis in the television room yesterday evening, Mary hadn't been able to stop thinking about the words that Francis had said to her: he had told her that he wanted her to choose him based on what was in her heart.

Was that what he truly wanted? For Mary to love him with all her heart? To disregard all thoughts of alliances and just choose love in the end? Is that how he felt about her? Would it be that simple, if that was the case? Could it ever be that simple, given their roles as royals?

Then Francis had said something about the crown that she would one day wear on her head. What did that mean? To Mary, that comment didn't really make sense-the Scottish crown belonged to James, and the French crown was dependent upon a marriage to Francis. There were no guarantees, when it came to Mary's future crown, and yet Francis had seemed so sure that a crown would one day be hers. It didn't make sense.

So Mary was left to play his words over and over in her mind, like a cryptic puzzle that she couldn't quite work out.

Mary shook her head, telling herself that she needed to focus on the upcoming visit. Things had been a little awkward between the two of them in the library today, and Mary was sure that this was due to a combination of Francis's fight with Bash and the words that Mary and Francis had exchanged in the television room yesterday, and she didn't want to make things even more uncomfortable.

For what felt like the tenth time in past two hours, Mary showed Francis the paperwork that she had been putting together during their session in the library in preparation for the visit. She had come up with several ideas based on the files and speeches that she had hidden in her room for years.

Francis's face was the picture of professionalism again as he read over the paperwork.

If you agree to cuts in royal spending," Francis muttered as he read over one of Mary's possible political proposals, "you should get some kind of agreement in writing as to what the government will offer you in return…"

Mary nodded, making a mental note to do this during the negotiations.

"And perhaps you should ask if the Prime Minister will give more focus to educational reform in her next live address to the nation-too much focus on security reforms will only make people wary…"

Mary agreed that she would think about it, and then they spent the next few minutes debating the merits of agreeing to some kind of publicity stunt in Edinburgh from the royal family in exchange for more support from the government-perhaps the whole family could pay a visit to the city soon, or they could organise some kind of royal event, like a ball.

Francis was a natural at all this, Mary knew that already. He was the person she wanted by her side when it came to royal and political negotiations. Soon, she would have to decide if she wanted him by her side in other aspects of her life, too.

After the two of them had gone over their paperwork to the point of exhaustion, Mary and Francis asked for tea to be brought to them in the library.

Mary smiled to herself from behind her teacup as she took a sip from her tea. She liked that tea-in-the-library was almost a thing between the two of them now, in spite of the grumbling from the castle staff.

Francis seemed to be enjoying a well-deserved break for a little while; after this time spent in the library, he was expected to head to one of the castle's conference rooms for a telephone meeting with French politicians.

Mary mentioned the small amount of free time that they had been granted during the visit to the two capital cities. Francis seemed happy about this, and Mary was at least glad that he seemed to be looking forward to spending time with her. She wondered what things would be like between the two of them, when they had some free time together in Edinburgh and London, away from the castle and other members of the royal family.

* * *

All too soon, evening arrived. Mary had one more appointment to keep before she could head back to the privacy of her room.

She headed in the direction of the television room, only pausing briefly to look out of one of the larger windows, to see if her older brother was walking outside.

Mary hadn't seen or heard anything from James all day. She suspected that her brother was deliberately avoiding her. Right now, Mary was almost glad about this realisation, as she wasn't sure what she would say when she next ran into James, after all the harsh words they had exchanged during their argument, but still, Mary sort of hoped that he wasn't hiding away and sulking somewhere.

There was no sign of James out in the royal grounds, but Mary noticed that Bash and Francis were outside, walking together. For a moment, Mary felt tense-she couldn't bear another fight between the two of them-but luckily, the two of them seemed to be exchanging civil words; their body language was not hostile, and Francis's facial expression looked almost apologetic. Mary could only hope that the two of them were apologising to one another, and that Bash wasn't telling Francis about Mary's visit to the stables earlier.

Mary watched them for a few moments longer to ensure that another argument didn't break out, and then she continued to head in the direction of the television room.

* * *

"Smile, be polite, tell the assembled press and politicians how much you value a relationship between the Crown and Parliament…"

Mary paced up and down the television room, going over the aims of the Parliamentary visit with her Publicist. Narcisse would be accompanying her on this trip, as Mary's mother was resorting to any means possible to avoid any diplomatic incidents with the English and Scottish politicians.

Narcisse would be expected to guide her in this public appearance, and also to help her to provide a good show for the cameras.

Mary had been more than a little worried since her mother had informed her that Narcisse would be travelling with her to London and Edinburgh. Narcisse on the other hand was strangely enthusiastic about the upcoming trip. When Mary had tried to find out why, he had been rather vague, mumbling something about how he would be glad to get away from the castle for a couple of days; Mary guessed that his eagerness to get away had something to do with the fact that Lola seemed to be giving him the silent treatment since their argument.

"Make any and all of your demands clear," Narcisse told her, his voice barely more than a whisper, but somehow still sounding deadly. "Make sure there is no room for Parliament to…misinterpret…your requests at a later date."

Mary stopped her pacing and regarded him suspiciously for a few moments. "Why are you so enthusiastic about helping me?" she asked him.

"I am putting your interests first, as any good Publicist would do…" Narcisse responded to her suspicious expression with a shrug that looked a bit too casual.

"What do you have to gain from putting my interests first?" Mary asked him with a frown. Narcisse did not seem like the selfless, caring type…nor did he seem particularly loyal. Mary had already heard from Francis that Narcisse usually had ulterior motives.

"Potentially permanent employment, should you be in a position to hire staff after this matchmaking show is over," said Narcisse, his expression more serious now.

Mary regarded him for a few more moments, as she worked out what it was that he was telling her. Narcisse was helping Mary in the hope that she would become the queen of France, but a queen on her terms, so that Mary would have more say in who she employed in her own inner circle of staff. He wanted to be in that inner circle, working as Mary's Publicist, even after the matchmaking show was over.

She was certain that being the Publicist of a queen brought a much higher salary than being the Publicist of a second-born princess, not to mention a greater vantage point, if he wanted to extract revenge on the French royal family…

Mary thought carefully about what to say before she gave her answer. Any negotiating and bargaining with Narcisse would put her in a more vulnerable position, in some ways, but on the other hand, she could perhaps buy his loyalty with the promise of potentially lucrative employment: "Then prove to me that I can trust you…"

* * *

As though time had somehow sped up overnight, the morning of the visit to Edinburgh and London seemed to arrive all too quickly.

Mary woke up early again. Her mind was full of thoughts of politics and the two cities she was about to visit, as well as the duties that lay ahead. Already, her nerves about giving speeches and making a public appearance with key politicians were starting to set in. There would be no older brother around to help her this time.

She got up and out of bed and walked slowly over to the window, deciding to take in the view of the gardens for a few moments and hopefully calm herself down before she had to start preparing for the day ahead.

As the sun rose over the royal gardens, Mary noticed that Kenna was walking with Bash on one of the pathways close to the stables.

Mary rolled her eyes, although she didn't really feel all that irritated. It seemed that Kenna was taking Mary's request to keep an eye on Bash seriously. Although, given the way that Kenna seemed to be smiling and laughing at whatever it was that Bash had to say, looking up at him with blatant admiration in her eyes, Mary suspected that Kenna hadn't really needed an excuse to spend more time with Bash.

Mary felt a strange sense of sadness as she watched the two of them. They would have made a nice couple, Mary thought, if the two of them had met randomly at a party in Edinburgh or in London and they hadn't both already had their roles to play in the Scottish castle. In spite of how different the two of them were, they both seemed well-matched as they strolled around the gardens together, apparently oblivious to their surroundings; they seemed to be too busy looking at each other.

Mary, however, could not remain oblivious to other things that were going on outside. Her eyes were drawn to two figures who were walking fairly close to one another on the other side of the gardens.

Mary frowned as she realised that it was Francis and Lola who were walking together. The expressions on their faces seemed to suggest that they were having a very serious conversation. Mary wasn't sure what it was about the sight of the two of them together that always got to her so much; she had seen Francis walk around the gardens with several other people since his initial arrival in Scotland, and perhaps he was just being friendly, acting as a shoulder to cry on for Lola since her argument with Narcisse…but still Mary couldn't help the nagging doubts that had crept in about possible other women in Francis's life, especially since the recent pictures of Francis and Olivia had emerged.

With a sigh, Mary made herself walk away from her bedroom window. She had much more pressing matters to think about at the moment.

* * *

Narcisse had had Mary's outfits for the next couple of days sent to her room with her stylists. Along with the hair and makeup team, they all helped Mary to get ready.

Mary's publicity team had decided that she should dress in a smart light blue shirt with black trousers, along with flat shoes and an expensive black blazer. She could not wear flowing dresses or shiny tiaras today; she had to show the world that she meant business.

* * *

After the hair stylists had styled her hair into a neat bun and the makeup artists had applied subtle makeup, they were all finally ready to leave for the capital city.

Most of the luggage that Mary would need for her trip had already been loaded into the royal car, but Mary still had a small handbag that she was going to take with her in the car.

Before she left her room, Mary discreetly placed her silk ribbon containing her key, ring and house into her bag. Perhaps she would wear the necklace if she had any leisure time during the trip, but for now, with an impeding political visit and yet another upcoming show for the cameras, she was not going to take any risks or cause any potential diplomatic incidents.

* * *

Mary's mother was waiting for her in the entrance hall to wave her off on her city visit. Mary had to put up with several minutes of her mother reminding her about the fact that she was on a diplomatic visit to Parliament, and any incidents or 'dramas' should be kept private, and that Scotland had to be a priority over England. However, her mother didn't seem as irritated as she'd been two days ago, and she even told Mary that she looked nice just before Mary headed out of the main doors, so Mary decided that that was something.

Francis was already waiting by the cars when Mary stepped outside. In spite of herself, Mary thought about how handsome he looked, dressed smartly in a white shirt and an expensive-looking jacket and black trousers, with his hair neatly styled.

He smiled at Mary as he approached her, before he bowed to her.

Mary smiled and him in return and bowed. She tried not to think about the photos of Francis and Olivia, or the fact that Francis had been walking around the gardens with Lola only a couple of hours ago. She couldn't allow any of these negative thoughts to distract her today. The camera crew would still be around for most of the visit, capturing any moments that they could use for the next episode of the show. Then there was also Narcisse to consider, who would be accompanying them on the visit. Mary could only hope that no arguments would break out between Francis and Narcisse.

Even though there were several members of staff standing in the driveway, Francis opened the car door for Mary so she could step into the car, before he followed her inside.

As the car pulled slowly out of the driveway, Mary glanced back over her shoulder. She noticed her father at the window, waving goodbye with a proud-looking smile on his face. Even Kenna was at the window, waving and smiling.

James was notably absent from the goodbye party at the window. Mary knew that this was because the two of them still weren't speaking, but she also suspected that her brother doubted whether this visit would even be worthwhile. More than ever, she was determined to prove him wrong.

* * *

The cars made the short journey to the local airfield. The queen's team of staff had arranged for a private jet to take Mary and Francis the rest of the way to Edinburgh. The royal family had arranged this because time was short on this official visit, but already Mary knew that they would all face criticism when it became known that they had taken a private jet on such a short journey.

Mary and Francis sat in silence for a little while on the plane. Mary was partly conscious of the fact that they were surrounded by a team of staff, along with Narcisse, who had found a seat at the back of the plane, where he was now sitting with his arms folded, looking grumpy, and she was partly starting to panic about all of the duties she would have to undertake in full view of well-known politicians and a camera crew. She imagined that the consequences would be disastrous for the Scottish royal family, if she made any serious mistakes.

A flight attendant served a light breakfast to all of the passengers on the private jet, but Mary found that she had little appetite.

"Are you nervous?" Francis finally asked her, looking at her with a concerned expression on his face.

"No," Mary replied instantly, automatically.

Francis raised an eyebrow at her.

"Terrified," Mary finally admitted when Francis continued to look at her. She couldn't help her embarrassed grin at this admission.

Luckily, Francis smiled back at her. "You'll be fine," he told her, his expression sincere.

Mary really wanted to believe him.

With some of the tension broken, the two of them spent the rest of the journey going over Mary's notes about her upcoming meeting with the Prime Minister, as well as her speech that she was expected to give inside the Parliamentary Hall, and also the speech that she would be giving outside of Parliament. Little did Francis know that Mary had an additional comment that she was planning on adding into to her speech.

* * *

After the plane landed on a private airfield just outside of the city centre, Mary and Francis were quickly ushered into a waiting car by their security guards. There were a few photographers hanging around the airfield, but Mary had been advised not to talk to the press until after she had met with the Prime Minister.

Thankfully, the team from the castle who had helped to organise the trip had the good sense to allow Francis and Narcisse to travel in separate cars.

In spite of her nerves, Mary still enjoyed pointing out various buildings and landmarks in Edinburgh's Old Town as they made their way to Parliament, and Francis really seemed interested in what she had to say.

* * *

Finally, the car pulled up outside the Scottish Parliament.

The Scottish Parliament was made up of several buildings, all of which had been constructed in various architectural styles, with solar panels built into the building.

Mary took a moment to marvel at the building's design before she had to go inside. The reflection of the sunlight almost made the exterior of the building look like it was glowing a bright shade of silver. Mary hadn't been here many times before-usually James and her mother went on the official Parliamentary visits. She knew that she had to make the most of this opportunity.

The Scottish Prime Minister had always seemed like a rather stern-looking woman, from what Mary had seen of her official speeches, and from the few times that she had paid a visit the castle, but in person, she came across as being a lot more pleasant-she smiled warmly at Mary as she approached her in the building's entrance hall.

The Prime Minister was shorter than Mary, yet she was still a commanding figure in the way she carried herself, with her shoulders back and her head held high. She had short hair, and she wore glasses, and she was dressed in a very smart grey suit.

"Your highness," she greeted Mary with a bow, following royal protocol.

"Please, call me Mary," Mary insisted, trying to keep things as informal as they could possibly be. She knew that relationships between the royals and the government had not been so great over the past few years, and she doubted that their meeting would be as productive if the distance of keeping to royal protocol was placed between them.

"Mary it is then," the Prime Minister replied with a grin, before she shook Mary's hand.

Mary noticed that she eyed Francis and his team of French staff almost warily from over Mary's shoulder as she stepped forward to shake Mary's hand.

Mary supposed she could understand her wariness; not many Prime Ministers would be completely comfortable with the idea of a future king from a rival country attending Parliamentary meetings.

After a quick tour of the building, the Prime Minister showed Mary and Francis into a conference room, where the meeting was scheduled to take place.

Francis seemed to take a step back during the meeting, letting Mary take centre stage as he hung around in the background, taking the occasional phone call from members of staff from the French castle and making conversation with a few of the guards.

Narcisse had also made himself scarce, stepping outside the meeting room with a couple of the guards at the start of the meeting.

Mary conversed with the Prime Minister on various political topics. Together, they talked about plans for possible educational reforms, while Mary broached the idea of more funding for security in the country.

The Prime Minister initially gave little away, but she seemed to be listening to what Mary had to say.

Negotiations between Crown and Parliament were always difficult, as there could be uncertainty on both sides as to how much of a role the royals should play in political decisions, and too much or too little involvement could bring criticism from the public either way.

As their negotiations went on, the Prime Minister admitted to Mary that Scotland was struggling financially, and that she too was worried about rebel activity all over the country. It seemed though that there wasn't much money available to help with more security.

The Prime Minister also seemed enthusiastic about the idea of some kind of publicity stunt from the royal family in order to distract Scotland from its troubles. She was so enthusiastic that she even suggested to Mary that she might want to consider holding her future wedding with Francis in the capital city, in full view of the country's major politicians and celebrities and media. Mary felt a little terrified at the very idea of it-there was no guarantee that she and Francis would even be getting married, and she wasn't sure she was keen on turning any possible marriage ceremony into a political performance, or yet another distraction technique…but then, perhaps that would be a sacrifice that she would be expected to make, as a royal.

Either way, she knew that the royal family might need to be more visible in Edinburgh from now on, in order to let the country know that they were there and taking their concerns seriously, and Mary promised that she would do her best to make more official visits to the city.

* * *

After the meeting, Mary was led to a podium in the Parliamentary Hall to give an official address to several key politicians.

Mary's hands were shaking with nerves as she took to the podium, but she was determined not to lose her nerve now. Today might be her only opportunity to speak for her country, before James became king and took over this role entirely.

Mary tried to follow the guidance of all those who had advised her about this visit, taking about how much she valued a relationship between Parliament and the Crown, and expressing her hopes that they could continue with this good relationship going into the future.

A few cameras filmed her as she spoke, no doubt preparing to broadcast this speech on the Scottish news later in the evening.

She noticed that Narcisse gave her a discreet thumbs up from where he was standing towards the back of the room, and even Francis seemed to smile proudly at her from where he was sitting a few rows away from the podium.

It seemed that Francis had managed to charm the Prime Minister in the few minutes he'd been speaking to her in the meeting room, because she now regarded him with a lot more warmth as Mary continued with her speech.

Feeling encouraged, Mary tried her best to keep the focus of the rest of her speech positive. She talked about her hopes for educational and employment reforms, and how she hoped to work in Edinburgh more with her family in the near future.

The assembled politicians gave Mary a round of applause after she finished her speech, and Mary really hoped that this applause was out of more than just politeness; she hoped that they had liked her speech.

After another quick conversation with the Prime Minister, Mary and Francis were ushered out of the room and down a long corridor, heading back outside so that Mary could give another speech with the Prime Minister outside; a speech that was to be for the benefit of the general public.

"How do you think it went?" Mary whispered to Francis, before they could step outside.

"You were perfect," Francis whispered back to her with a smile.

Mary couldn't help beaming with pride in return. Sometimes, she felt like Francis reserved his open, genuine smiles just for her. Or perhaps that was only wishful thinking on her part.

* * *

A few members of the public had been invited to assemble around the stone steps outside Parliament, along with several journalists and news reporters, and of course the camera crew from the matchmaking show.

Mary stood at the top of the stone steps, looking out on her audience in the same way that she knew that they were watching her.

The weather had got a little colder over the past hour, and there a definite chill in the air. The wind whipped through the few loose strands of Mary's hair that had come loose from her neat bun.

Both Narcisse and Francis stood in the crowd, and Francis threw several glares in Narcisse's direction when he thought that nobody was watching him. But Mary knew that she did not have the luxury of caring about any of that right now-the eyes of the country were upon her, and she had to make a good impression. This would perhaps be her only opportunity to quell some of the anger and the fears about the state that the country was in; maybe this would be her only chance to offer some sort of hope for the future. The people of Scotland did not need political jargon; they needed a clear and concise plan of action. They needed decisive leadership.

"I have hope of a strong and stable Scotland," Mary told the assembled crowd and the cameras, after her initial introductions. "Today's meetings and negotiations have been positive," she announced, even though she wondered if this was a slight exaggeration. "My family and I will work with your Prime Minister to introduce several beneficial education and workplace reforms. We will do our best to create more opportunities for everyone. We have heard your concerns, and we will do our best to answer them…"

Mary tried her best to project her voice, trying to sound as strong and as stable as the country that she was dreaming of for the future. She thought about how terrified she had been on the night of the attack in France, and the night when she had been cornered in an alleyway in Edinburgh. She did not want that to happen again, to anyone; she wanted the people of Scotland to feel safe. If there was some way to appeal to those who were thinking about rebelling against the country and to stop them in their tracks, then she hoped that promises of change, and promises of more stability and more opportunities, might go some way in doing just that. before they had to resort to even tougher security measures.

She touched briefly on new security measures in Scotland, trying her best to reassure people that they were doing all they could to keep people safe, and that the extra security had been put in place amid safety concerns, and that they were trying to protect law-abiding citizens from rebels. Still, Mary had a nagging doubt that these reassurances would not be enough to ease a lot of the tensions in the country. Quickly, she moved on to other topics.

"As well as an excellent relationship between Crown and Parliament," Mary continued, doing her best to exaggerate this positive relationship, as she knew that there had in reality been tensions between her mother and the Prime Minister for quite a while now, "Scotland has also been lucky to enjoy a supportive relationship with France, as a result of the Royal Matchmaking television show." This was another exaggeration, given Mary's issues with King Henry and Queen Catherine, but she decided to go with it, if only to make it seem as though Scotland had a potentially powerful ally.

She took a few deep breaths before she continued, knowing that she hadn't planned this part of the speech with Narcisse. There was no doubt that he wouldn't have approved. "As a thank you for such a supportive relationship, I can offer my assurances to France that I will continue to value the input of the French royal family in the future. I will also request that the Queen Mother remain at the French castle in the future as my chief advisor, should I take on a more permanent role as part of the French royal family…"

Narcisse looked shocked by this promise. Even Francis's eyes widened a little, before his expression quickly became the picture of professionalism again.

Mary knew that she was taking a risk, in promising to allow Catherine to remain at the French castle after her husband's death, in the event of Mary marrying Francis, especially after Catherine had so blatantly tried to sabotage the matchmaking show since it had got started, but Mary really hoped that this risk would be a calculated one. Mary was a threat to Catherine's wellbeing, as she could easily ask her to leave her home if she became the queen of France; Catherine had said so herself during Mary's visit to France. Perhaps Catherine would not interfere in the matchmaking proceedings so much, if her own future was more secure. Mary was securing her own future possibilities, as much as she was securing Catherine's.

After a scattered round of applause, and a brief speech from the Prime Minister in which she (thankfully) backed up a lot of what Mary had just said, the crowd dispersed, and Mary and Francis shook hands with the Prime Minister and her team of politicians one more time before they were ushered back to the cars by their security team.

The moment she got into the car, Mary's phone buzzed to let her know that she had just received a message. It was from an unknown number. She opened the message a little cautiously. _Well played…_ it said, simply. Mary knew straight away that the message was from Catherine.

Mary couldn't help feeling a little relieved as the car drove away from the Parliament building. She had got through the first part of the visit without any disasters. She felt even better when Francis smiled at her from the seat next to her in the car.

* * *

In the afternoon, Mary and Francis were allowed a little time together.

First, they went to an expensive-looking restaurant close to the original Edinburgh Castle, where they were served a delicious afternoon tea, consisting of sandwiches and cakes and scones.

After filming for a few minutes, the two of them were thankfully left alone by the camera crew for a little while to enjoy their food. They fell into a conversation about the Scottish royal family's residence in Edinburgh and all the antiques and portraits the building contained; Mary was already an expert on the building's history. Mary found herself wishing that she could take Francis on a tour of the royal residence-if only they had a little more time, and they weren't on such a tight schedule. Maybe next time, Mary decided, surprising herself with this idea.

After they had finished eating, Mary and Francis were driven to Arthur's Seat, a well-known lookout point in Edinburgh that had always been a favourite place of Mary's as a child; it was an ideal place to go walking and to take in the views of the city.

Mary and Francis decided to use what was left of their free time in Edinburgh to walk up the grass-covered hill together and enjoy some fresh air and good views before they had to travel to London.

This time, they were left alone to walk without a camera crew or even Narcisse and his Publicity Team to follow them. With the exception of a few guards who were following them from a distance, keeping an eye out for any sign of danger, Mary and Francis were mostly left alone.

As they walked up the hill, stopping along the way to take a few photos together, Francis praised Mary for her speeches in Parliament.

"You looked strong, confident," he reassured her.

Mary couldn't help smirking a little-she knew that this was high praise indeed from a member of the Valois family, and she liked the idea that Francis had wanted to praise her in private, rather than making this moment into a scene for the show.

The conversation flowed easily between them now, as it always seemed to when they were away from the cameras or the watchful eyes of their families.

Then, a few feet further down the hill, they noticed a young man get down on one knee, proposing to his girlfriend.

As the couple kissed and embraced to loud cheers and a round of applause from the small crowd who had gathered to watch the couple, an awkward silence passed between Mary and Francis.

Francis seemed to look away from Mary as the couple continued to kiss, and Mary couldn't help wondering if Francis was feeling a little tense due to the fact that he was not used to seeing spontaneous, romantic proposals from members of the public (Mary imagined that the Valois family would disapprove of something like that), or whether it was because the proposal had served as a sharp reminder that he and Mary would soon have to make a decision regarding their own marriage plans.

They walked up the hill in silence for a few minutes, and Mary was even tempted to resort to making small talk about the weather to ease some of the tension, when finally, Francis spoke…

"Your offer of a permanent role in the French castle for my mother was a very generous one," he told Mary.

Ah, Mary thought, so Francis had been thinking about that part of her speech.

"You didn't have to do that," he added.

_She doesn't deserve it_ …

These were the underlying words that Mary could almost imagine that Francis was saying, even though he would never say something like that out loud about his mother.

"I wanted to," Mary assured him. Part of this promise had been tactical, of course, but she also did not want to throw Francis's mother out of her home, if she ever became a queen in France. She hoped that Francis understood that.

Francis nodded, and Mary got the impression that he understood what her motives were.

"Thank you," he told her, his expression formal, serious, as though they were currently engaging in some sort of political negotiation.

They had reached the top of the hill, and they were soon distracted by the beautiful views of the city from this vantage point.

Normally, Mary loved to look out on the city from Arthur's seat, but today, she couldn't help feeling more grateful for Francis's presence than the views from the hill, even though this thought made her feel a little embarrassed.

Mary and Francis were only given a few minutes to appreciate the views from the top of the hill and to take a few more photos together however, before the guards made a gesture to the two of them to let them know that it was time to head back down the hill and begin the next part of their journey.

With a sigh, Mary headed back down the hill, with the guards behind her and Francis by her side.

It was time to head to London.


	21. Chapter 21

The visit to Edinburgh might have gone well, but the atmosphere seemed…different, somehow, when the private jet landed in London.

Here, things seemed more tense, less hopeful. Mary wondered if this had something to do with the fact that Narcisse had spent most of the short flight sitting with his arms folded, looking sulky and morose and throwing many glares in Francis's direction, but she doubted it was just that.

Nobody came to greet them at the landing field-no English guards, no members of the public, and certainly no journalists. Mary couldn't help wondering if anybody in England actually cared that they were there.

* * *

The streets of London were busy as the royal cars drove through the city, but no busier than they would have been on any other afternoon in the capital. It seemed that no members of the public were lining the streets, ready to catch a glimpse of royalty.

Mary felt an almost overwhelming sense of nostalgia as they passed the London Eye and Big Ben on their way to Downing Street. This city had been Mary's home, during her school days, before she had returned to Scotland in a state of shock after the incident in France. For all her not-so-positive memories of her school, Mary had been happy here in London, spending her days with Greer and following Francis from a distance, always wondering where he was going.

* * *

When the royal cars pulled up outside 10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister was already waiting outside for them, standing on the steps outside the official government residence, along with a couple of guards. There was nobody else waiting outside. Usually, it was customary for the household staff to line up in Downing Street to greet official visitors, but they were nowhere to be seen. There were also no journalists or photographers standing on the other side of the street, ready to capture the moment on camera.

The camera crew from the matchmaking show were left on their own to record the arrival as Mary and Francis got out of the car and made their way over to the waiting Prime Minister.

The English Prime Minister was a tall man with grey hair. He stood up straight, a commanding presence in his designer suit, and a firm expression on his face. He managed a smile as he greeted Mary and Francis with a quick bow, but still, Mary had the impression that he was not the kind of man to be crossed.

"I hope you've had a pleasant trip?" the Prime Minister asked Mary and Francis in an English accent that Mary was sure wouldn't have been out of place in a classic novel, before he offered them a tour of Number 10.

He continued to be polite as they toured around Number 10 and he pointed out various portraits of previous Prime Minister that were displayed on the walls near the main staircase before he showed them a few of the empty conference rooms, yet, when he inquired about James's upcoming wedding, and pointedly made a comment about not being invited, Mary got the impression that he had taken this snub to heart.

Mary was a little surprised herself to hear that England's Prime Minister had not been invited to the wedding, especially as a marriage between James and Kenna had been arranged to bring about better relations between England and Scotland in the first place. Had the lack of an invite been an oversight on her mother's part? Or had she deliberately not invited the English Prime Minister? Perhaps the feud with England ran deeper than Mary had first thought.

When the Prime Minister asked a few of the house's personal photographers to take pictures as he and Mary and Francis walked around the house, before he led them back outside to pose for photographs on the steps of Number 10, now that a few members of the press had bothered to show up, Mary's suspicions that they were merely here for some kind of publicity stunt rather than any real political negotiations only increased.

Francis however, seemed to be winning over some of the staff in 10 Downing Street, even if Mary couldn't. He smiled and made general conversation with several groups of women who worked in the Prime Minister's headquarters, turning on the charm. Mary only felt a little jealous as she watched most of the women smile at him in return; she reminded herself that this was Francis's job, that this was who he was, when he was being the prince of France. It seemed that the cold behaviour from the English government was reserved entirely for Scottish royalty.

Mary was almost glad to get out of 10 Downing Street and head back to the cars that would take them to the House of Commons. The Prime Minister was expected to appear there this afternoon, and he had invited Mary and Francis along to watch Prime Minister's Questions.

"You will have a challenge on your hands, in strengthening relations between England and Scotland," Narcisse whispered to Mary as she got into the waiting car.

Mary sighed. Narcisse's words were only confirming what she already knew.

* * *

The royal car passed Westminster Abbey on the way to the House of Commons. Mary thought of all the royal weddings that had taken place here-weddings that she had once watched with James on television, the two of them treating the events like light entertainment. Mary had always thought that Westminster Abbey was beautiful, when she had lived in London, but now the sight of it made her feel a little nervous-it was yet another reminder of her brother's upcoming wedding, and a reminder that the Scottish Prime Minister wanted Mary to turn her own wedding into a big public event.

Mary glanced over at Francis. He was distracted, looking at his phone as he apparently tried to arrange a call with an Italian ambassador. He might have agreed to accompany Mary on her visit, but it did not mean that he was exempt from his own royal duties.

Francis had been a little quiet on this trip, Mary realised, now that she was really thinking about it. In a way, Mary hoped that he was distracted with business matters in France and the fact that Narcisse was here on this visit, and not other matters of the heart.

* * *

Mary and Francis were taken on a quick tour of the House of Commons when they arrived, where they were asked to pose for more photos with the Prime Minister and various other politicians, before they were shown upstairs to the viewing gallery to watch proceedings. Again, Mary suspected that they were being kept out of the way, and being kept from getting too involved.

Narcisse soon drifted away from the viewing gallery, caught up in yet another conversation with the guards and the rest of the Publicity Team. Mary had no idea what they were all talking so intently about.

Francis stayed with Mary for as long as he could, but he eventually had to head into a room off to the side of the viewing gallery when the Italian ambassador finally called him back.

Mary stayed to watch the political conversations going on in the room below on her own. She was so engrossed in the debate that were going on that she almost didn't hear the sound of footsteps as someone approached her.

"Do you come here often?"

Mary jumped, feeling a little startled. Trying not to look too embarrassed at being snuck up on, she turned around to see none other than Louis Conde standing next to her.

Mary shook her head in disbelief. Perhaps she should not be so surprised to see him here today-she already knew that he worked in politics in London, after all.

"You have really got to stop using lines like that," Mary told him, pretending to sound embarrassed on his behalf, even as she grinned, thinking about his 'who has the key to your heart?' line that he had used last time.

It was nice to see Conde again, she realised. She had never really had many close friends, or allies in her inner circle, and a friendly face was a friendly face, after all.

Still, she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder, to see who might be watching the exchange between the two of them. She wasn't sure why she was being so cautious-what did it matter, if Francis or Narcisse or any of the Publicity Team saw them? Mary had talked to a lot of people today. Still, she couldn't help feeling relieved that there were only a couple of guards hanging around in the distance.

She also tried not to blush as her mother's words from a couple of days ago came back to her-Conde had apparently put himself forward as a suitor for her, and he wanted her to consider leaving the matchmaking show to date him instead. It was strange being around him, now that she knew for sure what his feelings were.

Still, Mary tried not to let any of her discomfort show-for all Conde knew, she still knew nothing about the proposal he had made.

"How has the visit to England been so far?" Conde asked her.

Something must have shown in Mary's facial expression before she could conceal it, because Conde winced, and then an expression of sympathy crossed his face. "That bad?" he asked her, managing a grin now.

Mary sighed. She glanced back down at the politicians below before she spoke again. "I find myself wondering if any of them would even notice, if Francis and I were to leave right now…" Perhaps she shouldn't have said this out loud, especially to a politician who worked here, but Mary realised that it felt good to voice her not-so-positive feelings about how this part of the visit was going; it felt good to be honest.

"They're not happy," Conde told her in barely more than a whisper as he moved to stand a little closer. "England is still holding a grudge over Scotland's separation and independence, and they feel like they have been snubbed by Scotland ever since. As you are here as an ambassador for Scotland, the English government will probably not appear overly welcoming…"

It saddened Mary to hear the truth about England and Scotland's relationship spelled out to her, but she was hardly surprised-it was what she had already suspected.

"At least your brother's wedding to Lady Kenna might serve to repair relations a little," Conde added with a half-smile.

Mary suspected that he had seen the look of despair on her face and was now trying to find something positive to say to make her feel better.

"But, perhaps there is something more that can be done to help the situation…" said Conde, his tone a little knowing now, but also a little mysterious. "And something that could help you as well…"

"And what is that?" Mary couldn't help asking him, feeling genuinely curious now. It seemed like Conde really did have some kind of information that could be helpful.

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you," Conde answered in a whisper. "Something that might help strengthen relations between England and Scotland, and something that might be of benefit to your future. But not here. If you can get away from all of this for a little while," he nodded in the direction of Mary's Publicity Team, who were now returning to the viewing gallery with Narcisse. "then meet me at eight o'clock this evening." Discreetly, Conde handed Mary a small business card.

Mary frowned, but before she could ask him anything else, Francis walked back into the room, still on the phone.

"The address is on the card," Conde muttered to her, before he made his excuses and slipped out of the room.

Quickly, Mary looked down at the card. An address of what seemed to be a local pub that wasn't too far from the House of Commons was printed on it. It seemed to be the official business card of the establishment.

But then Francis was walking over to her again, and Mary quickly hid the card in her pocket.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary noticed that Francis seemed to be smiling as he hung up the phone. She couldn't help but wonder who he'd just been talking to. But still Mary smiled politely at him when he moved to stand next to her.

If Francis had recognised Conde, he didn't say anything about it. However, he didn't say very much else as the two of them watched the Parliamentary debate come to a close; he seemed to have a lot on his mind.

Mary was almost relieved when the Publicity Team suggested that they should leave.

* * *

Mary and Francis were granted a couple of hours of free time in London during the late afternoon, before they were scheduled to head back to a hotel for the evening.

Narcisse and his team had already headed on to the hotel, as their presence was not really required now that the official part of the visit to London was over for the day. With Narcisse and Francis no longer glaring at each other, the atmosphere seemed much more relaxed.

As the royal cars drove towards Buckingham Palace, a place that Mary had requested to see as part of the visit, instead of feeling enthusiastic, she felt like her mind was carrying out its own debate.

Should she go and meet Conde this evening? Did he really have something important to tell her; something that would help to strengthen English and Scottish political relations? Was he really trying to be helpful? Or did he have an ulterior motive?

* * *

When the cars pulled up outside Buckingham Palace, Mary tried to put these thoughts out of her mind, for now. She wanted to enjoy this part of her visit to London.

The outside of the palace was quieter than usual-it seemed that it was getting a bit late for a lot of tourists to visit. Mary and Francis therefore had plenty of space to take photos, and their security guards mostly kept their distance.

Francis seemed more himself now that he was off-duty, and he laughed along with Mary as he posed with her for a selfie by the palace gates.

He even posed for a photo with a group of European tourists who recognised him as the prince of France. He was all smiles, making polite conversation with them all, and Mary could tell that he had made their day.

After that, Mary and Francis sat down for a quick rest on a set of stone steps nearby.

Mary told Francis about how she used to visit Buckingham Palace during her school days. She told him the story about Kenna-how she had stood outside this very palace, bragging about how she would marry a prince of her own one day.

Francis laughed at this story. "Did you ever dream of marrying a prince yourself one day?" he asked Mary with a wink.

"You already know the answer to that one," Mary joked in return, raising her eyebrow as she smirked a little.

Luckily, Francis laughed along with her.

"However," she added, keeping her voice low, so that a few passing tourists couldn't hear their conversation, "recently, the idea has become a little more appealing…"

It was worth saying those words just to see Francis smile as he looked at her.

* * *

After they had spent a little time at Buckingham Palace, Mary and Francis were driven towards Chelsea in South West London, close to where they had attended their secondary schools.

Mary took out her phone and sent the latest picture that she had taken to Kenna-the selfie of Mary and Francis standing outside Buckingham Palace.

Kenna responded with her usual heart emojis, which made Mary smile.

* * *

When they arrived in Chelsea, Mary and Francis walked past the rows of old-fashioned houses, enjoying having the free time to just stroll around, without having to be anywhere in particular.

The streets were beautiful, and the sun seemed to be shining brighter than usual in the sky.

They stopped just outside a local bookshop, and Mary took a few moments to look through the shop window, admiring all the classic novels on display.

"I used to see you here sometimes," Mary heard Francis mutter to her. "Standing outside the shops, looking in the windows, back when we attended school in London…" He sounded almost shy, and Mary found it rather endearing.

"Ah, was this when you were on your secret walks to everywhere and nowhere?" Mary attempted to joke with him as she grinned and raised an eyebrow.

"Something like that," Francis replied.

Mary was sure that he was blushing now.

"You could have come over and talked to me," said Mary.

"You have no idea how nerve-wracking the very idea of it was at the time," Francis admitted, the look on his face suggesting that he was wondering whether he should have admitted to this.

"Really?" Mary asked him, sure that her disbelief must have been obvious in her tone.

"Oh, yes," said Francis, an embarrassed-looking smile on his face now. "There was even one time when I tripped over as I attempted to walk over to you to strike up a conversation. It was all very embarrassing…"

Unable to help herself, Mary laughed. The idea of the future king of France-a future king who always seemed to be so poised, so in control of himself-tripping over in a London street as he attempted to talk to a girl was so bizarre and therefore hilarious.

Francis joined in with the laughing, but after their expressions grew serious again, Mary watched him, surprised by this revelation. She had always assumed that Francis had disliked her when they were younger; she had assumed that this was the reason why he had avoided her before the matchmaking show. But perhaps she had been mistaken all along.

"Well, I am glad we are talking on this London street right now," Mary added with a smile.

"Me too," Francis agreed, his tone of voice soft.

* * *

It was still early evening when Mary and Francis were driven back to the hotel. It had been a long day, and there would still be a little work to do in the morning before the journey home, and Mary knew that her mother would want her to get an early night.

The hotel had been closed to the public for one night, and so the only guests were Mary and Francis and their teams of staff.

They all headed to the restaurant, where food was to be served for the Scottish and French guests.

Mary sat at a table with Francis, but the atmosphere was definitely a little more tense now that they were surrounded by Narcisse and his Publicity Team, and they didn't talk as much as when they had been alone together in London.

Mary noticed that Narcisse seemed to flirt with several of the waitresses when they brought food over to his table. She frowned as she observed his behaviour from the other side of the room. Perhaps whatever had been going on between him and Lola really was over.

* * *

After dinner, Mary's mother had scheduled a debriefing of the day that Mary was to attend with Narcisse, and Francis retired to the hotel suite that had been reserved for him. As he left, Mary noticed that he was checking his phone. Again, she couldn't help but wonder who he was talking to.

Mary headed to a meeting room with Narcisse and a few other members of the Publicity Team.

"Your appearance in Edinburgh seems to have been well-received so far," Narcisse told her from across the meeting room table. "The general consensus seems to be that you appeared strong and capable in your speech."

He showed her a few official photos and videos of the Parliamentary visit. Mary was happy to see that the combination of the windy weather and the loose strands of her hair blowing in the wind had the added effect of making her seem like she was not fazed by a little bad weather. She almost looked like a queen, about to ride into battle, although she knew that it might sound silly, if she said something like this out loud.

Next, Narcisse showed her a few of the official photos that had been taken so far during the London visit. "We might need to get some better photos of you standing next to the Prime Minister tomorrow," he muttered as he held up a photo of Mary and Francis standing next to the Prime Minister on the steps of 10 Downing Street.

Mary was disappointed but not surprised to note that she looked a little tense in these photos, and definitely not happy or relaxed. She hoped that they could take better quality photos in the morning.

"And remember, your speech tomorrow morning will probably be your only opportunity for your voice to be heard in England during this visit," Narcisse added.

_So, no pressure then…_ Mary thought to herself.

As Narcisse continued to talk about the notable lack of coverage of her visit to England, Mary's thoughts drifted again to Louis Conde. He had claimed that he had useful information for her. Would it be worth sneaking out to meet him tonight, to hear what he had to say?

* * *

Mary might have feigned tiredness when the meeting drew to a close, making her excuses to head up to her own private suite for the night, but half an hour later, she was pacing up and down her bedroom floor, distracted by her obsessive thoughts.

The hotel bedroom might have looked luxurious, with a four-poster bed and a modern décor and plenty of space, but Mary barely noticed the room's beauty, with everything else that was going on in her mind.

It was half past seven. If she left now, she would still be on time to meet with Conde, provided she could persuade a few of the guards to help her sneak out of the hotel and drive her to the correct address.

Would it be worth taking the risk of sneaking out? Was Conde really prepared to provide her with information that would help to strengthen relations between the two countries, or was this simply an attempt to lure her away from Francis and the matchmaking show for the evening? Should she simply take a chance anyway, based on the possibility of finding something out that could benefit the Scottish royal family?

In her agitated state, Mary couldn't help thinking about Francis's recent photos with Olivia, and also all the time that he seemed to have been spending with Lola recently, since her argument with Narcisse.

Francis might have told Mary back in France that he would have chosen her if he did not have royal duties or a throne to consider, but the reality was that his royal duties were not simply going to vanish overnight. When it came to it, he would choose who to marry based on what he thought was best for the French crown, and he might not choose her. As much as it pained Mary to think it, there were no guarantees, when it came to Francis Valois.

If Francis announced that he could not marry her by the end of this process, then would it have truly been such a bad thing, to have met with Conde for an hour or two in London during the matchmaking process? Should Mary look for other options too, just in case?

What would the consequences be, if she got caught?

What would the consequences be, if she missed out on hearing something useful that could benefit the Scottish crown?

With a sigh, Mary finally made a decision.

* * *

Her curiosity, her desire to know secrets had been her downfall in the past, and yet she still could not resist when the opportunity to know another secret was put in front of her.

Quickly, she changed clothes, ran a brush through her hair, and put on a little makeup and jewellery.

She used her phone to get in contact with three of the guards who she knew a little better than the others, advising them that she had another appointment to keep in London this evening and asking them to arrange for one of the royal cars to drive her there.

She made sure to dress all in black, in clothes that could almost be considered casual. Just before she left her room, she put on a dark, hooded coat that she hoped would also serve as a disguise.

The corridor outside the hotel suite was quiet, and the lights had been dimmed for the evening.

Francis and his team from France were staying on another floor of the hotel, so it was unlikely that any of them would see her.

There were only a few guards standing at the end of the corridor to Mary's left, but they seemed to be gathered around a phone, watching videos, apparently bored of their nightly guard duty.

It was all too easy for Mary to sneak past them. She only had to briefly glance to her left to check that the guards' backs were still turned, before she took a turn to her right.

Mary considered taking the lift down to the ground floor to meet the other guards, but she decided against it at the last minute. There would be at least one security camera inside the lift, and it would be all to easy for the hotel to leak any surveillance videos of her to the press.

Instead, Mary headed for the stairs further down the corridor.

She walked down several flights, heading towards the ground floor. Perhaps there would be cameras in the stairwell, too, but she was sure that it would be more difficult for the cameras to get a shot of her from the stairs, especially as she made sure to move fast on her way down.

She had almost reached the ground floor when…

"Going somewhere?"

Mary came to a stop at the sound of a voice behind her. The tone was soft, smooth, almost deadly.

Slowly, reluctantly, Mary turned around and looked up.

Narcisse was standing a few steps above her, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and his eyebrows raised.

Mary sighed and shook her head. He had been so quiet, so distant during this trip, until now. This was the moment he had chosen to be sneaky and to follow her. He had crept up on her too; Mary hadn't even heard his footsteps behind her. She had a mental image of a snake, slithering silently through the grass, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike.

Mary briefly considered the possibility of just running, trying to get out of the hotel before Narcisse could find out what she was up to, but she knew her actions would only look more suspicious if she did that.

Instead, she tried to keep her voice level as she answered him: "Go back upstairs, Narcisse; this is none of your concern."

"I beg to differ," said Narcisse with a shrug.

He did not seem to be particularly concerned for her wellbeing or in any rush to stop her from leaving, Mary noted. Instead, he looked almost amused by her actions, like he was interested to see how this moment would play out, and he definitely looked curious about what she was up to.

"If you head out tonight and put yourself in any danger, then both our necks are on the line," Narcisse continued, his voice still calm.

Mary sighed. He was clearly still depending on her for his own career advancement. Narcisse always thought of himself and his own gain. But then, at least he was honest about it.

"I am going to meet with Louis Conde," Mary confessed, deciding that she might as well just be honest, now that she had got caught.

Conde did not look particularly surprised by this revelation.

"I'll go with you," he told her after a few moments' silence.

Mary was surprised by this. She had expected Narcisse to try to talk her out of going, or to call for the guards to escort her back to her room. Did she want him to talk her out of it? She wasn't sure.

"That really won't be necessary-" Mary started to say, before Narcisse cut her off.

"As much as I disapprove of your little outing," he said with a shrug, "I highly doubt I can talk you out of it. At least if I am with you, I can try to prevent you from making a mess of things PR-wise…"

Mary stared at him in silence, considering his offer. Was this truly his motivation, or was he leading her into a trap, trying to sabotage her in some way?

In the end, Mary relented. "Fine," she sighed. She wasn't sure if she had much choice but to go along with his request, now that he had caught her sneaking out. "Remember," she added, "the role of the future queen's Publicist is not yet secure; you still have to prove to me that I can trust you."

Narcisse simply nodded.

* * *

The guards were waiting for Mary in the hotel lobby. If they were surprised to see Narcisse walking a few steps behind Mary, then they didn't show it in their facial expressions.

Mary reminded them all that she expected them to be discreet about tonight's 'appointment', and they all nodded. She could only hope that she had enough authority to prevent them from telling her mother and her brother where she was heading tonight. But then, perhaps they wouldn't care-they had both suggested that Mary consider Conde as a marriage prospect after all.

Then, they all headed out of one of the hotel's back doors and into a waiting car.

Mary gave the driver the address that was printed on the card Conde had given her, and then she sat back in her seat, folded her arms and leaned her head against the car window. She almost felt like she was trying to make herself smaller, to hide away from any prying eyes.

"You must understand that this meeting will be considered as something as a conflict of interest," Narcisse reminded her in a whisper as the car made its way to its destination. "If any political discussions are to take place, then you must do all you can to keep those discussions private…"

Mary nodded, barely even listening to what her Publicist was saying. Her heart had started to beat faster, and she was struggling to concentrate.

"But then, you're not really going for political reasons…" Narcisse added with a smirk.

"Of course I am!" Mary snapped back at him, not liking where this discussion was going.

She didn't like the idea of there being some truth to his words.

The weight of what she was doing was really starting to push down on her now-Narcisse had a grudge against Francis, and he could easily spin this meeting between Mary and Conde into something that could hurt him.

Mary turned to look out the window, trying not to let her doubts show on her face.

The rest of the car journey passed in total silence.

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, the car pulled up outside a small establishment that was not too far from the House of Commons.

Mary covered her face as best she could with her hood before she stepped out of the car and headed inside, with Narcisse and the guards not too far behind her.

The place that Conde had given her the address for turned out to be a pub that was not dissimilar to the pub in the village in Scotland. It looked old-fashioned, with dark wooden floors and tables, a red rug on the floor and a large fireplace in the middle of the room.

Mary noticed a flag of Great Britain which was displayed on the mantelpiece, and a St George flag, along with several other flags from various countries around the world.

A few wooden bookshelves displayed copies of old books, and there was also a vase containing several red roses on one of the shelves.

Louis Conde was waiting for Mary near the back of the room.

He stood up as she approached, looking both happy and surprised to see her. Perhaps he had had doubts that she would show up.

He looked handsome, Mary thought, as she noticed that he was dressed almost casually now in a dark T-shirt and trousers.

"Mary," he greeted her with a smile as she went to take a seat opposite him.

Mary couldn't help smiling in return. She was happy to see him, in spite of the circumstances. He was a friendly face amidst the chaos that had been the matchmaking show.

The other customers at the pub didn't seem to be paying them much attention, but Mary was still glad that Conde had chosen a table in a quieter corner of the pub.

Candles had been placed on each of the tables, which made Mary feel a little uncomfortable-it made this meeting between them seem more intimate, as though they were on some kind of date, but when she quickly glanced around the room, she noted that there were only a few couples sitting at some of the tables. Other tables were occupied by what looked like groups of businessmen, or maybe even politicians-perhaps this was the place where they all went to unwind after a long day of work at the House of Commons.

She also noticed that Narcisse and the guards had taken a seat at a table a few feet away, blending in with the crowd, like they were just another group of businessmen, but Mary knew that they were close enough to take action, if it was required.

Conde seemed to glance at Mary's neck for a moment, and then what looked like a smug smirk crossed his face.

Mary glanced down and realised that she had put on her necklace of black ribbon tonight, along with several other pieces of jewellery. She blushed; in her hurry to get ready, she hadn't even realised that she had put the necklace on. The key and the ring and the house were on full display, lit up by the candlelight. Then she felt a little anxious as she realised the reason why Conde looked so smug; he must have taken her wearing of the house charm as some kind of message; a quiet indication that she was considering him as a romantic prospect.

Discreetly, Mary tucked the necklace into her shirt as she tried to make polite conversation with Conde, commenting on how nice the pub was and asking him about its history. Her thoughts were all over the place at the moment, and she had no idea what would happen when the matchmaking show came to a close; she did not want to offer Conde any false hope.

Conde asked Mary if she wanted any food to be brought over to the table, but she politely declined; she felt like her stomach was tied in a knot, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to eat anything.

He then offered her something to drink, but Mary opted for water instead of wine.

"How is the matchmaking show going?" Conde asked her.

"Fine. The same as usual," Mary replied quickly, trying not to give too much away.

She knew what Conde was doing-the question was not as casual as it might seem; he was trying to find out if anything had changed between her and Francis; or more accurately, if anything had happened that might have increased the probability of Mary leaving the show. But Mary did not want to get into a deep conversation with him about the show; although she knew that most of Scotland was watching the show on a weekly basis, it still felt like something personal between her and Francis-a journey that the two of them had been on together; something that she did not want to share with anybody else.

Conde seemed to sense that Mary was reluctant to give too much away, because he quickly changed the subject. He talked a little about his work in the English Parliament, and his life in London, before Mary told him a little more about the afternoon visit to London, and how she wished that the meeting with the Prime Minister had gone a little better.

Conde was easy to talk to, Mary noted. He nodded and laughed and smiled and gave looks of sympathy at all the right moments, and his tone of voice was calm and non-judgemental as he offered useful advice.

It was oh so tempting to simply share all of her thoughts and feelings about the past few weeks with him, to have somebody listen who might understand and sympathise, but Mary had to keep reminding herself that Conde's political and diplomatic background perhaps meant that he was well practiced in saying the right thing at the right time. She had no guarantee that anything he said and did was sincere, and as much as her mother seemed to support a potential match with him, he was still from one of Scotland's rival countries; Mary knew that she had to be careful about what she said.

Every now and again, Mary glanced over her shoulder to look in Narcisse's direction. Every time she looked, Narcisse would discreetly give her a thumbs-up or a nod or use various other hand gestures to indicate what he thought about what she was telling Conde.

Conde's expression suddenly became more serious, and Mary sensed that he was about to tell her the real reason why he had invited her here tonight.

"The English Prime Minister was very impressed with your speeches at the Scottish Parliament," Conde informed her in a hushed tone.

This news came as a surprise to Mary. "Really?" she asked Conde as she sat back a little in her seat, trying to keep her expression neutral.

"He could not tell you this too openly, for obvious reasons," Conde continued, which Mary took to be a reference to the strained relations between England and Scotland, "but he was impressed by all of your actions on the Scottish and French visits; we all were. He thinks you have a particular talent for speeches and negotiation."

Mary was both surprised and flattered to hear this. She had not really considered herself to have much talent at all in the public sphere, and any praise in those matters was usually saved for James.

"And of course, I also made sure to sing your praises after I witnessed your behaviour in France-especially after you confronted the king," said Conde with a hint of a smile.

Mary smiled in return, but she still felt confused as to where he was going with all this.

"The Prime Minister is interested in employing you for a role in England," Conde explained.

Mary almost knocked over her glass of water in shock. This was the last thing that she would have expected Conde to announce to her.

"He believes that with your talents, you would work well in diplomacy and international relations…"

Mary continued to stare at Conde, intrigued. This was exactly the kind of job that she had dreamed of when she was younger.

"And of course, with your Scottish background, your taking of a role in England would go a long way to mend relations between the two countries; as a royal, you could perhaps even establish connections with the royal family here..."

Mary could see the logic of it all; she could see the potential diplomatic benefits of such a role, but she reminded herself that she had to think rationally.

"And I suppose I would be expected to live in London?" she asked Conde.

Conde nodded. "You would be provided with accommodation, as a perk of the job-a house, here in London, or a luxurious apartment, and, well, I'm sure my own home wouldn't be too far away from where you choose to live…"

Ah, so that was a big part of all of this too, Mary realised. Conde was hoping that by working and living so close together, something might happen between the two of them; he was hoping that Mary might eventually move in with him.

"It's just something to consider, should the…show not work out," said Conde, like he was really trying hard to keep his tone of voice light, casual. "I imagine you would be eager to get away from Scotland and life at the castle for a little while, in those circumstances," he added. "Hopefully it will reassure you, to know that you would have a role waiting for you here, should a royal marriage not be on the cards; and it would reassure us, too, to think that there might be a way of working with a Scottish royal and improving relations…"

Conde went on to talk about the other benefits that would come with the job, like the opportunity to travel, and the chance to have her own platform to share her ideas, and the opportunity to build on and strengthen the English and Scottish relations that would be established through James's marriage to Kenna.

Mary listened, taking in his words. The flames dancing in the fire and the flames of the candles almost had a hypnotic effect. The room seemed warm, welcoming. She could almost smell the scent of red wine, as well as the red roses in the vase. Conde was telling her everything she wanted to hear...

It was tempting, oh so tempting. Her dream job, in a city she had always loved. The possibility of escaping from royal duties, and life in the castle; an escape from constantly performing for the cameras. It was what she had always wanted, wasn't it?

Everything was such a mess at home, with James and Kenna and Mary's mother. If Francis pulled out of the matchmaking process, then Mary would be left all alone in the castle, pushed to the background and only pulled out for public appearances and official engagements when her presence was required. She could lose her mother soon, and her father would put all of his focus into acting as James's adviser in order to distract himself from his grief. Who would Mary have by her side, on her team, in her corner, if and when all of that happened?

She thought of Conde's house in London; the house that looked just like her doll's house. Could she not find sanctuary there? Some kind of solace from a turbulent life in Scotland? The French king and queen could not get to her there, could they? Perhaps the masked figures and the mysterious whispers and footsteps would not be able to follow her to London…

She thought of Greer, who would be moving to London soon. Mary could be here, close to her best friend; she wouldn't have to part with her after all…

The flames continued to dance in the fire, and Mary found herself wishing that she had met Conde before the matchmaking show had started. Or maybe she still wished that she was just an ordinary girl who had met Sebastian in a Scottish village, free from complications…

But then one of the books on the bookshelf caught her eye. It was a book of fairy tales, and she could just make out an illustration of a prince wearing a crown on the book's spine. She thought of Francis. Francis, who had kissed her under the tree in the French royal garden, before he'd told her that she was the one who he would have chosen, if he had not had the burden of kingship waiting just around the corner. Francis, who Mary wanted to kiss over and over. Francis, who Mary had been in love with during their childhood years. Francis, who had asked her to dance in Paris. Francis, who posed for pictures with her outside tourist attractions in London and in Paris, like they were just an ordinary couple on romantic holidays together. Francis, who only today had shyly admitted that he had been too nervous to talk to Mary during their school days.

Lately, Mary had found that she was thinking about Francis all the time, even when she didn't want to.

It was too much. She had to get out of here…

"I should probably head back to the hotel," she told Conde. "Francis and I have an early start tomorrow…"

Conde's proposal was of no real benefit to the Scottish crown at the moment, after all, not unless Mary's circumstances changed in a few weeks, and she tried to tell herself that this was the reason why she was suddenly in a rush to leave.

Conde seemed to understand that their 'meeting' was drawing to a close, because he nodded and quickly finished what was left of his drink.

"The offer is there, should you wish to accept it in a few weeks' time," said Conde as he stood up to say goodbye.

"I will consider everything you have told me tonight," said Mary. "And thank you."

She truly was grateful for what he had offered her; she hoped he knew that. He must have gone to great trouble to be in a position to offer her a job like that in the first place; he must have really talked her up to the Prime Minister and other politicians, and encouraged them to follow her progress since she had first come to his attention.

Conde bid her farewell with a nod that was almost a bow. He looked disappointed to see her go.

Mary looked over her shoulder to indicate to Narcisse and the guards that it was time to leave.

For a split second, she was almost certain that she saw a face looking through the pub window, but then the guards stood up to leave, obscuring her view through the window, and when the guard finally moved out of the way, Mary could clearly see that there was nobody there. She shook her head, telling herself that she had only imagined that somebody was looking in, watching her.

Trying to regain her composure, Mary smiled at Conde one more time as he walked her to the door.

* * *

Mary took a few moments to breathe in the cool night air when she stepped outside.

She felt disorientated, like all of her thoughts were spinning out of control.

"Nobody is to breathe a word about the conversation that took place tonight," Mary instructed her guards and her Publicist.

Thankfully, they all nodded in agreement.

Mary could barely remember the journey home.

* * *

Mary woke up early the next morning, even though she felt like she had barely slept at all. It took a few moments to re-orientate herself and to remember that she was not in her room in Scotland but was in fact in a hotel suite in London.

Then, as she woke up a little more, her memory of last night rushed back to her. She remembered everything that Conde had said to her, in the pub…

Frantically, Mary reached for her phone. She checked her own personal messages and emails, and then she scrolled through news site after news site. She breathed a sigh of relief as her Internet search confirmed that no stories or pictures of her meeting with Conde had been leaked. Her secret was safe. For now.

Mary requested for breakfast to be served to her in her hotel suite. She was not yet ready to face Francis, or Narcisse; she hated the idea of her and Narcisse being in on some kind of secret together-a secret that they were not sharing with Francis.

The breakfast looked delicious, but Mary had little appetite. It took all of her effort to eat her food. She had to keep telling herself that she had a long day ahead and would therefore need to keep her energy up. Sometimes, nagging voices like these in Mary's head sounded suspiciously like her mother.

She was almost grateful for the distraction when her phone rang, but then she felt tense all over again when she saw that it was Kenna who was calling her. She had asked Kenna to keep an eye on Bash, and Mary was worried about what Kenna might have found out about him.

Luckily, Kenna had not found out anything of particular importance, but was simply calling to update Mary on what she had seen so far: "He has mainly been walking around the grounds and working in the stables," Kenna informed her, sounding far too enthusiastic for somebody who had been asked to carry out what was shaping up to be a rather mundane task. "He left once, to go to the village, but he wasn't out for long, and he returned with supplies for the horses. The guards in the village confirmed this for me when I double-checked with them…"

"Thank you, Kenna," Mary told her. She really did appreciate Kenna's help with this, although she suspected that Kenna had only agreed to it so she could spend a little more time with Bash.

"Did you know that he sometimes unbuttons his shirt when he's working outside in the hot weather?" Kenna asked Mary with a giggle in her voice.

"I have to go now, Kenna," said Mary as she rolled her eyes. Still, she couldn't help smiling as she hung up the phone.

It wasn't long before the stylists arrived to help Mary get ready for the day.

After she was ready, she looked in the full-length mirror in the suite's living room.

Today, she had been dressed in a red, medium-length designer dress. Her hair had been styled into curls, and red lipstick had been applied to highlight her makeup. She also wore gold jewellery, along with a few gold clips in her hair.

Mary had a feeling that she knew what kind of look her stylists and her Publicist were going for-she was supposed to stand out today; to look like somebody who England should not ignore.

As Mary adjusted her golden hair clips one last time before she walked out of the room, she realised that she did not look like a princess today; she looked like a queen.

* * *

They were running a little late for their first engagement, as it had taken longer than planned for Mary to get ready, and so Francis was already waiting for Mary in the royal car when she got in.

He seemed to stare at her in what looked like admiration for a long time as she sat down.

"Is my outfit to your liking?" Mary asked him, trying to keep things light, casual, and hoping that he somehow couldn't read the discomfort in her body language as memories of her meeting with Conde played uncomfortably in her mind.

"I would tell you looked beautiful, but I'm sure that would be an understatement," said Francis, his words and serious expression taking Mary completely by surprise.

Even Francis looked a little embarrassed at having said this out loud.

Mary felt herself blushing, taken aback by Francis's words. Was he flirting with her? Complimenting her? Either way, his words seemed to be sincere.

In the moment of silence, Mary took the moment to appreciate how handsome Francis looked in his well-fitted suit and his black tie and his crisp, white shirt. She was sure that the suit was designer and probably cost a fortune, but something about the way it fitted Francis in particular made it look even more perfect.

"I would tell you that you looked handsome, but I'm sure women tell you that all the time," Mary attempted to joke with him, trying to ease some of her own embarrassment.

"It would mean more though, coming from you," Francis told Mary with a smile and a raised eyebrow, making Mary blush all over again.

She wasn't sure if she was annoyed or relieved when they were interrupted by the sound of a call coming through on Francis's phone.

Mary could see from the name on the phone screen that it was Francis's mother who was calling him.

For the rest of the car journey, Francis spoke in a hushed tone to his mother in a mix of French and Italian.

Mary got the impression that the two of them were attempting to negotiate some sort of last-minute deal.

* * *

The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow a little as Mary and Francis approached him outside 10 Downing Street, but he quickly schooled his features back into a more neutral expression.

Mary wondered if there was something a little shocking about the way they were dressed today. Perhaps they looked a little too royal, a little too threatening, for his liking.

Still, Mary and Francis made sure to bow and shake hands and remain polite and professional.

The cameras from the matchmaking show filmed the moment, and then Mary and Francis posed for a few more press photos with the Prime Minister.

Remembering Narcisse's advice from yesterday, Mary made sure to pose correctly for all of the photos, allowing the photographers to get the best possible angles. She tried to look happy and relaxed in most of the photos, so that the public would not be able to guess at any tension between England and Scotland, and then she took a few more photos with a serious expression, trying to look more regal and to create a strong image, just in case any of the newspapers wanted to go for that angle when they published the photos. She also made sure to shake the Prime Minister's hand for the cameras as he bid Mary and Francis farewell.

Mary wasn't exactly sure what to make of the English Prime Minister, but she made a silent vow to invite him to her wedding, if she ended up being a part of a royal wedding when the show was over, just to see if the diplomatic gesture would serve to ease any past grudges or tensions.

* * *

Next, Mary and Francis were driven back towards Chelsea for their final engagement.

Mary had had the opportunity to choose the location for her speech in London, and Mary's mother had agreed that Mary could give the speech on the steps outside her old school, which had been closed for the occasion. Mary had already anticipated that the Prime Minister would not be overly enthusiastic at the idea of a Scottish royal giving a speech on Parliamentary ground.

A crowd seemed to have gathered on the street leading up to the school. Mary wasn't sure at first if the crowd had gathered to see her and Francis, but when they got out of the car, she saw that the press had also assembled around the stone steps outside Mary's school.

Mary wasn't sure if word had now spread that there were two royals visiting London, or if Narcisse had put in a few calls to alert the media of their presence, but still Mary was glad that there would be an audience for her speech today.

Francis was able to offer more visible support for Mary during this speech, as his input would not be seen as a conflict of interest in the way that it would have been viewed in Scotland, and so the two of them walked up the steps together.

Mary was glad to have Francis standing next to her. It always felt easier to face challenges when he was around.

"Thank you for your invite to visit your wonderful city, and your wonderful country," Mary addressed her audience.

She was determined to keep the tone of the speech positive, but still she kept her expression serious. She wanted to look regal, and she wanted to inspire confidence, even though a lot of people hadn't put much confidence in her.

Francis stood beside her, standing up straight with his hands behind his back, looking out at the crowd without a hint of fear on his face.

_He already looks like a king…_ Mary thought to herself.

Narcisse stood at the back of the crowd, dressed in a smart suit and looking every inch the businessman. His expression was unreadable, and it gave away no hint that he had helped Mary to sneak out last night.

Mary shook her head. She couldn't think about that now. Right now, she was a princess, a potential future queen, and her own personal life was irrelevant. She had to do her duty for her country.

"Our visit has been a positive one," Mary continued. "Your leaders have made us most welcome. We are already eager to visit you again. We hope to continue to strengthen relations between England and Scotland; two great countries. My brother's upcoming marriage to Lady Kenna will be a wonderful opportunity to strengthen those relations; relations which we will continue to build on."

Conde's words yesterday about James and Kenna's marriage had inspired Mary to add this into her speech.

Mary talked a little bit longer about her school days in London, and all the places in London she loved to visit. She wanted to establish a clear link between the Scottish royals and the English city, so that people would see her as being involved and invested in the English city.

There was a round of applause after Mary finished speaking, to her relief, then it was Francis's turn to speak.

"France will offer its full support to strengthening the bond between our beloved countries," he announced to the crowd.

He projected his voice perfectly, with just the right amount of authority mixed in with genuine concern.

People seemed to stand up a little straighter when he spoke; he commanded their attention.

He was born to be a king; Mary knew that. She had always known it. The idea filled her with both pride and sadness.

"We will seek to strengthen relations between France and Scotland," he continued. "We will also offer any help that we can to strengthen the bond between England and Scotland."

Mary was relieved that Francis's words were highlighting and supporting her own aims. The Prime Minister might have given them something of the cold shoulder, but together, Mary and Francis were working to bring all three countries together, regardless of what the Prime Minister thought.

"And, as a token of our appreciation for the sacrifices that Scotland has made to accommodate France," he added, "I can announce on behalf of France that we will be offering a substantial financial gift to support Scotland's security expenses…"

This announcement drew surprised gasps from the crowd.

Mary was sure that she froze to the spot for a few moments in her shock at this announcement. She felt light-headed, weak at the knees. She couldn't believe what Francis had just said.

France was going to foot the bill for Scotland's extra security. They were going to offer this money as a token, a gift, even without a guaranteed marriage alliance between France and Scotland.

How had Francis ever got the king of France to agree to it?

No, Mary realised, this had been Catherine's doing-it was a token of thanks for Mary's promise during yesterday's speech that Catherine would be protected if Mary became queen; it was an expression of gratitude for Mary's positive comments about France to the Scottish public.

Scotland finally had money for security. It was almost unbelievable. They could now use the Scottish budget for other things; the Prime Minister could start to make educational and health reforms; perhaps more employment could be created.

The Prime Minister was probably dancing in celebration at this news. Her re-election was now almost guaranteed.

The queen of Scotland had been eased of another burden.

Mary was perhaps a little uncomfortable at the idea of the strings going in even tighter between Scotland and France as a consequence of this pledge, but she could not think of her own worries right now; this additional support would improve the lives of many others; it would win more support for the Scottish royal family with their subjects.

Francis's public pledge was also yet another PR goal that had just been scored; it showed that Scotland had a powerful ally in France; it showed that Scotland had support, and could therefore be a formidable opponent against England, should it ever get to that. It would mean that they would not have to rely on English approval so much, and could instead focus on establishing a relationship based on mutual respect and equal status between England and Scotland.

Trying to shake herself out of her state of shock, Mary thanked Francis for his pledge on behalf of Scotland, and expressed her wish to continue to build positive negotiations between their two countries.

It was only after their speeches drew to a close and Mary and Francis were posing for a few photographs for the press that Mary started to truly feel a sense of guilt.

Francis had made such a generous offer to Scotland; he had taken an unprecedented action to help her and her country, potentially putting his family's reputation at risk as a result; he had been trying to thank her for her own actions during this visit, and yet only last night, she had snuck out of the hotel to meet with Louis Conde. Would Francis have been quite so generous, if he had known where she'd been last night? Mary could only hope that he never found out. There was much more at stake now than her own happiness.

The air around her suddenly felt thick, oppressive. Mary wished that she could get out of this place; get out of this city; she wished that she could be at home already.

She stood back a little and allowed Francis to take centre stage as they made their way slowly back to the car.

Francis was a natural with the public, making polite conversation and smiling at everybody. People seemed to be drawn to him. He looked so happy, to see some young children in the crowd, and he knelt down to talk to them at their level, making them feel at ease.

A part of Mary wanted to beam proudly at him and place her hand over her heart in admiration, but she knew she couldn't do that; they were still out in public, and she was still feeling uneasy.

"Francis, I don't even know how to thank you," Mary whispered to him the moment they were back in the car.

"You have nothing to thank me for," Francis whispered to her, a reassuring smile on his face. "Consider it a gift," he added, with another smile. "It's the least my country can do, after everything we have put you through..."

Mary struggled to blink back tears from her eyes. Everything about the past couple of days had been so overwhelming.

* * *

Mary had always loved London, but she felt more than a little relieved when the royal cars finally drove out of the city, on their way to the private airfield in the English countryside.

The views of the countryside from the car window were beautiful, but still Mary felt like she wasn't far away enough from the city. She felt the strange, urgent sensation of trying to escape from something; it was the same feeling that she had had when the matchmaking show had first started and she had fled from the room at seeing Francis, but she wasn't exactly sure what she was trying to escape from now.

It was only when the private jet was flying through the clouds that Mary finally allowed herself to sit back a little and relax.

She must have been more exhausted than she had first thought, because she felt herself drifting off to sleep, only to wake up as the plane was landing in Scotland to discover that she had leaned into Francis in her sleep.

Mary might have felt embarrassed by this action, at another time, but she was still too exhausted to think clearly, and her body felt heavy, weary.

For his part, Francis had put his arm around her shoulders in what Mary knew to be a very rare gesture from him, and he was holding her close, like he was trying to make her more comfortable.

"Don't leave," Mary mumbled in her half-asleep state; words that she knew she would be mortified by when she was fully awake.

"I'm right here," Francis replied, with definite amusement in his tone.

Apparently, Francis hadn't worked out yet that Mary was talking in the long-term, rather than talking about the current moment.

When the plane came to a complete stop at the end of the runway, Francis stood up and held out a hand to help Mary up.

Mary took his hand, trying to ignore the smiles and the giggles from the cabin crew and various members of the Publicity Team.

They all knew that this gesture was no PR stunt, in the privacy of the plane, and it seemed that they found it to be sweet.

Mary kept hold of Francis's hand as they walked down the plane's stairs and headed in the direction of the waiting cars just outside the airport.

She stayed close to him in the car, leaning her head on his shoulder again as they began the first leg of the journey home.

Francis did not move away.

* * *

They were allowed a brief pause for refreshments and to change into more casual clothes at one of Mary's family's royal residences in the Scottish countryside, and then they were driven to a nearby train station.

Mary's mother had truly surpassed herself in her arrangements for the final part of the journey home. She had booked out the whole of a Scottish train to take Mary and Francis and their teams back towards the castle.

Even in her tired and anxious state, Mary could not fail to muster a smile as a smartly-dressed member of the train's crew opened the door to one of the carriages so that she could step inside.

Mary and Francis ended up sitting in the carriage at the back of the train. Mary made a point of requesting a little privacy, and so all of their travel companions had left them alone in the carriage, choosing to spread out into the other carriages instead. Mary could just make out a few of the guards through a small glass window that offered a glimpse into the carriage in front of them.

Mary and Francis sat separately at first, taking in the views of the Scottish Highlands through various windows in the carriage.

Mountains and rivers and fields seemed to fly by the window. Scotland truly was beautiful, Mary thought to herself, in spite of its current grey skies. She felt a profound sense of loss at the idea that this country might no longer be her home in the near future, regardless of how the matchmaking show turned out.

It occurred to Mary that her brother had not contacted her once during her visit to Edinburgh and Scotland, not even to check how the political negotiations were going. Who knew if or when their damaged relationship would be repaired? Perhaps she would no longer be welcome at the Scottish castle after the wedding.

Mary had changed into a casual red jumper before she got on the train, removing her makeup and letting her hair fall in loose curls over her shoulders, no longer caring about looking perfect for the cameras.

She bowed her head a little and wrapped her arms around herself, like she was seeking more of the jumper's warmth.

She chanced a quick glance at Francis, who was looking out of a window on the other side of the carriage. He had changed into one of his trademark white jumpers, and his hair looked a little dishevelled, now that he was off duty. There was an expression of awe and wonder on his face as he watched the hills and valleys speed past the window while he occasionally brushed a stray blond curl away from his face.

Francis truly was beautiful, too, she thought.

It was a beauty that went beyond outside appearance. There was a goodness in his heart. When Mary was around him, she felt like she wanted to be a better person. Everything seemed to shine a little brighter when he was close.

Quietly, Mary removed the black ribbon that she was still wearing around her neck. Then, she untied the knot and removed two items from the ribbon, placing them in a back pocket of her bag before she tied the ribbon back up again and put it back around her neck.

Her actions would seem trivial to the untrained eye, but Mary felt as though a significant event had just taken place.

With her necklace safely tucked back into her jumper, Mary went back to glancing out of the window, huddled into her jumper.

"What are you thinking about?" she suddenly heard Francis ask her in barely more than a whisper.

Apparently he had moved to sit beside her while she'd been lost in thought. He must have sensed her growing anxiety, or some dark thought going on in her head, and now he was trying to reassure her; he was trying to see if he could help in some way.

Mary turned from the window to look right at him.

She thought about what he had said, about how he wanted her to choose based on what her heart told her.

A strange sort of silence seemed to pass as they sat looking at each other.

Acting on impulse, Mary leaned forward a little, closing the gap between them. And then she kissed him.

Their kisses in France had been so perfect, and Mary had been wanting to kiss Francis ever since, but with everything else that had been going on, the opportunity had not presented itself. Until now.

Francis seemed surprised for a moment, but then, thankfully, he kissed her back, putting his arms around her to pull her in closer.

The kiss started off urgent, almost frantic, their lips moving rapidly as they held each other tight. It was like they were both trying to say so much through their kisses; words that they could not say out loud.

But then their kissing became slower, more tender. Mary ran her hands gently through Francis's golden curls as Francis ran his hands gently through her hair and up and down her back.

Sometimes, they moved apart a little, only to briefly look into each other's eyes, before they moved in closer and kissed all over again.

It was like neither of them wanted to break apart.

Everything else in their lives felt so messy, so complicated, right now, but for Mary, this moment was perfect. She wished that she could kiss him forever; she wished that this moment would never end; she wished that royal duties were not waiting for them only a few miles away in the Scottish castle.

Francis had asked her to choose with her heart.

As Francis placed a gentle kiss to her cheek before his lips found hers again, Mary knew that if she could choose with her heart and her heart alone, then her decision had already been made.

And-even though Francis was unaware of it; even though he was unaware of the true meaning of Mary's necklace-tucked safely inside her red jumper, only the key remained on the black ribbon, right over her heart.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter a little challenging to write, for a variety of reasons. One of the main ones was that so much content had to be covered for this chapter to make sense. Another was that this chapter is kind of dark, and the main characters have to go through a lot. However, I really felt like the events of this chapter (and the next) are a necessary part of Mary's journey in order for her to realise who she really is, what she really wants and what her true feelings are. I hope you continue on this journey with Mary and Francis. As the popular saying goes, 'The darkest hour is just before the dawn.'

There were times, in the aftermath of the attack on the castle in France, when Mary had gone over her memories and her recollections of the days, hours, moments leading up to the first explosion, obsessively trying to work out whether there had been some sort of hint, or clue, or sign put forward to her in advance that her whole life had been about to change.

And yet, she had never been able to come up with anything; there had been no metaphorical signposts laid out before her to warn her that the events of her life were about to take a dramatic turn.

And, in the hours between Mary's return from London and the final night before James and Kenna's wedding, again the universe gave Mary no indication that something out of the ordinary was about to happen…

* * *

Mary returned to the castle from the visit to London, feeling like she was walking on air.

Both Francis and Mary had to remember their roles and their royal duties as they got out of the royal cars and posed for photographs for a few of the official royal photographers who had assembled on the castle driveway to cover the upcoming royal wedding before they headed inside through the front doors, but every now and again, the two of them shared a couple of knowing smiles whenever they caught each other's eye. It was like they were both sharing in a fond recollection of their recent kissing on the train as it passed through the Scottish countryside; they were like two young lovers with a romantic secret, rather than a prince and a princess doing their official duties, and Mary found this idea to be both romantic and thrilling.

Mary could barely even think about the future, about what her choice to wear only the key over her heart on her necklace was likely going to mean for the two of them; she could only think about the present moment, and how happy she felt.

Mary's happiness could not even be dampened by the fact that several guests had already arrived at the castle in advance of the wedding, and they were currently gathering for drinks outside in the royal gardens.

* * *

As was typical for the two of them, after a quick greeting with Mary's father in the entrance hall, who looked delighted to see them both, Francis was called away for a meeting, and Mary was taken to meet with her mother, so they could go over the events of the official visit to Edinburgh and London, and deal with any negative press that might have arisen as a result of the visit to the two cities.

Mary's mother was all business when Mary walked into her office, but this was only what Mary had long since come to expect of her.

Mary filled her in on her negotiations with the two Prime Ministers, and she suggested that they would have to do more to repair relations with the English Prime Minister. Surprisingly, her mother nodded along with her in agreement, and for the first time, Mary felt as though the queen of Scotland was taking her seriously.

The queen then showed Mary a selection of the online news coverage of the royal visit. Mary couldn't help rolling her eyes as she noticed that several online news sites had chosen to put their focus on criticising the Scottish royal family's 'excessive' use of private jets throughout the visit, questioning whether other methods of transport would perhaps have been more economical, but Mary's mother didn't seem overly perplexed by this. "There will always be something for them to criticise," she told Mary, her tone of voice calm. "What's important is that you have given them plenty to praise."

Mary couldn't help wondering if her mother was mellowing, now that her time as queen was coming to an end, but Mary tried not to dwell on this thought for too long, as it only made her feel a sharp pang of pain in her chest.

Mary's mother started to focus on the positives of the royal visit, telling Mary that she had made the Scottish royal family appear strong through her speeches, and she had brought them a lot of good PR by developing a good professional bond with the Scottish Prime Minister, and by praising England throughout her speech in London. "Perhaps there is hope for a reunion between the two countries after all," said the queen, her tone of voice full of optimism.

In spite of her mother's professional distance during the meeting, she seemed unable to hide her joy and her relief as they talked about the security budget that France had agreed to provide for Scotland. She did however warn Mary not to get too complacent about the security money, as it was likely that the king of France would not be thrilled by what Francis had offered to Scotland, and they might therefore meet with some resistance for a little while.

"It would be helpful if you and Francis could put in an appearance in the gardens for an hour or so," said Mary's mother as the meeting came to a close, "just to keep our guests happy. But after that, why don't you take the evening off, get some rest before the big day tomorrow? You must be tired after the trip…"

"Really?" Mary asked her, feeling surprised at this. It was rare for her mother to grant her any time off from royal duties, especially when the castle had official visitors, and a royal event was waiting just around the corner.

Her mother nodded in confirmation. "Mary," she added, looking almost amused now, "you did well on your official visit; consider an evening off as your reward."

For a moment, Mary felt a little surprised, a little taken aback by her mother's praise. For once, her mother really believed that she had done well. But then, an all-too-familiar feeling of guilt washed over her. Would her mother still be so full of praise, if she had known that Mary had snuck out to 'talk politics' with Conde last night? Would she still be so proud of her, if she had known that Mary had briefly considered taking Conde up on his proposal for her to leave the Scottish royal family and head to England to work alongside him?

But Mary said nothing as she headed out of the office. She could only hope that nobody would ever find out about that impromptu meeting. Maybe then Mary could start to erase it from her own memory.

* * *

Mary briefly returned to her room to change into smarter clothes, and then she met Francis outside in the gardens.

Francis smiled at her as she approached, but the two of them were distracted for a little while by the groups of guests who immediately seemed to surround them, offering their congratulations on James's upcoming wedding, and asking seemingly endless questions about the matchmaking show.

It took all of Mary's effort to smile and to be polite and to remind herself that she was supposed to be acting like she was thrilled about the wedding.

Kenna was holding court on the other side of the garden, surrounded by various noble families, as well as her parents and her official wedding planner, but James was nowhere to be found. Mary suspected that he was still intent on ignoring his sister after their recent argument, and would probably only emerge from the castle and head into the gardens after Mary had headed back inside.

Luckily, the camera crew from the matchmaking show wanted to get some footage of Mary and Francis walking around the gardens together amidst the guests, and so Mary finally had an excuse to be close to Francis again.

They didn't have the opportunity to say very much to one another, as no conversation would truly be private with so many people standing close to them, but Mary was content to simply walk next to Francis, their arms linked.

Francis seemed to sense that Mary was feeling a little stressed out, especially when a few of the guests started to smile at the two of them and place their hands over their hearts, like they were watching their favourite couple on a TV show share a romantic gesture, because he occasionally whispered words of reassurance to her, letting her know that everything would be all right.

He also tried to distract Mary from the guests by updating her in whispers about a recent conversation with his father. As Mary's mother had suspected, the king of France was not happy about the security budget agreement, but he had eventually agreed to start to pay it, if only to ensure that his wife and son continued to do his bidding for the foreseeable future.

Mary then went on to tell Francis about her meeting with her mother, and how the visit to Edinburgh and London had generally received positive coverage.

Francis seemed happy on Mary's behalf about this news, and the two of them shared another smile as they looked into each other's eyes.

For the first time, Mary allowed herself to believe that everything might be okay. No news articles about her meeting with Conde had emerged, the late afternoon sun seemed to be shining brightly in the sky, and something about walking around the royal gardens with Francis just felt so…right. She could picture herself doing this in the future; she could imagine the two of them attending events like this together; she could imagine a life for the two of them. Perhaps continuing her role as a royal would not be so bad after all, if it meant that she could have _this_ with Francis…

Mary tried not to think too much about the fact that she could see Bash watching the two of them out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning against the outside wall of the stables, with what looked like a resigned look on his face. After a few minutes, he sighed and walked away, retreating from Mary's line of vision.

* * *

Although Mary would have liked to have spent more time with Francis, she was grateful to be able to retreat to the sanctuary of her room after her designated hour in the garden was over.

Francis walked her back towards her room, taking her as far as protocol would allow (it would not be right yet, for Francis to be seen standing outside Mary's bedroom door-it would probably start a few rumours).

Francis paused to place a gentle kiss to Mary's hand when they reached the corridor that led to her room. The gesture might not have seemed like much to the outside observer, but after everything that they had been through to get to this point, it was possibly one of the most romantic moments of Mary's life.

Francis would be driven to the local airport before breakfast in the morning, so that he could be there to greet his parents, who would be arriving in Scotland by private jet. The king and queen of France had been invited as royal guests to James and Kenna's wedding, as part of a diplomatic bid on the queen of Scotland's part to help achieve an alliance with France.

Mary therefore encouraged Francis to head back to his room, so that he could rest and get an early night in anticipation of an early start and a long day ahead, but still, Mary couldn't help watching his retreating back almost longingly as he walked away from her and back in the direction of his royal rooms in the Scottish castle.

Francis turned his head and smiled at Mary one more time before he headed around the corner of the corridor, and Mary couldn't help smiling back at him.

Mary might even have leaned against her bedroom door for a little while after she had stepped inside and closed it gently, holding her hand over her heart and giggling to herself like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Perhaps this was what true happiness felt like.

She should have known that it was not going to last.

* * *

After a few minutes of daydreaming about Francis, Mary changed back into casual clothes, before she made a call to ask for her evening meal to be brought to her room, and then she made plans to do very little at all; maybe she would catch up on a few episodes of the matchmaking show, or maybe she would read a book or complete a sketch…Anything to distract herself from the thought that in twenty-four hours' time, James and Kenna would be exchanging their vows, and in what could only be a matter of months, or weeks, her brother, who was still ignoring her, would be the king of Scotland.

Mary was more than a little surprised when a member of staff knocked on her bedroom door and informed her that Lady Kenna had requested to eat dinner with Mary this evening. She would have thought that Kenna would have more important things to do on the evening of her wedding.

Mary eventually agreed to the request however, as she was concerned that Kenna had found out some not-so-pleasant information about Sebastian, and perhaps she needed to share this information with Mary in private, and so she sent a message for Kenna to come and meet with her in her room.

When Kenna walked into her room however, Mary took one glance at the anxious expression on her face and her nervous body language as she started to pace up and down the room, and she realised that this 'meeting' probably had very little to do with Bash; Kenna was terrified about the wedding ceremony that was awaiting her the following day, and she wanted to spend some time with somebody who understood her fears.

Mary watched Kenna for a little while as she continued her frantic pacing. She looked pretty, even though she was only dressed in casual clothes-a long, light pink skirt and a white T-shirt, with a white flower pinned into her hair. Kenna did not need designer dresses and fancy jewels to look elegant, Mary realised, but now she also knew that Kenna wore those expensive things like armour, so that nobody could see the vulnerable girl hiding behind the jewels.

As Kenna walked around the room, she ran her fingers along Mary's old patchwork blanket, and then she moved her hand to run along the outside walls of Mary's doll's house. There was almost a look of longing on Kenna's face as she looked at the little doll family inside the house, and Mary felt a pang of sympathy.

Kenna's eyes then seemed to go to the window, as though she had caught sight of something outside that had distracted her.

Mary took a few steps closer to the window and saw that Bash was walking around outside, carrying bags of supplies as he walked towards the stables.

It seemed that Kenna had been right about Bash unbuttoning his shirt when the weather was warm, because several of the top buttons of his white shirt were currently open, and Kenna seemed to be watching him as though mesmerised.

For a moment, Mary was certain that she saw the outline of the top of a tattoo peeking out of the exposed part of Bash's chest. She tried to get a better look at it-Mary had always been fascinated by people with tattoos during her school years-but Bash was much too far away in the gardens for Mary to see clearly what it was. Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, and he did not in fact have a tattoo at all.

Kenna seemed to mistake Mary's intense look for a look of judgement, because she sighed and said, "Mary, please; allow me one last look before I become a married woman…"

There was such a tone of longing in Kenna's voice; a sad sense of resignation in the face of the inevitable that Mary felt upset on her behalf. She almost felt guilty, for indulging in her kisses with Francis on the train and giggling after Francis had kissed her hand, especially when it was obvious that Kenna was going through so much anguish in the run up to her own wedding. And James was probably feeling exactly the same way.

Mary hoped that James and Kenna could maintain their friendship at least. Maybe they would be able to share a few light-hearted moments together in between the more serious times. Maybe they would enjoy going to parties together. Maybe James would take Kenna on holiday to Paris every now and again. Maybe James would allow Bash to continue to work at the castle after the wedding, so that Kenna would have something pretty to look at through the castle windows as she went through the motions of doing her royal duties…

This last thought only served to make Mary feel even more upset, and so she tried her best to think of other things as she looked out the window with Kenna for a little while longer.

She noticed that Bash was now talking to Lola, who had recently stepped outside the castle to take a walk in the gardens. The two of them seemed to be making polite conversation.

A few moments later, Narcisse also stepped outside. He stopped when he noticed Lola and he seemed to stare at her for a long while from a distance, like he was debating going over to talk to her, but he seemed to lose his nerve at the last moment.

With a sigh, he headed back inside the castle.

Lola looked over her shoulder the moment Narcisse left, a frown on her face as though she had sensed that somebody was watching her, but then she seemed to sigh and shake her head, and she returned to her conversation with Bash.

Kenna seemed to be watching the scene with a sad sort of look on her face. Mary suspected that Lola had been confiding in Kenna over the past couple of days about her argument with Narcisse, and Kenna probably knew more about the situation than Mary did.

Finally, Mary persuaded Kenna to tear her eyes away from the gardens and sit down, and then Mary made another call to the kitchens to ask for enough food for the two of them to be brought to the room.

Kenna seemed to be putting on a brave face as she and Mary shared food that probably contained a few too many calories for Mary's mother's liking, but Mary noticed that Kenna's hands shook a little as she picked up a slice of pizza.

Kenna updated Mary a little on what Bash had been up to since Mary had left the castle for the royal visit, but it seemed that he had not been up to much in particular, or nothing that would raise any suspicions, anyway.

Mary told Kenna about her visit to London and Edinburgh, and Kenna seemed interested to hear the details of Mary's time spent with Francis. She was equally interested to hear about the political aspects of the visit, something that surprised Mary all over again, and Kenna even offered to throw some sort of garden party at the castle for the English politicians after she was married to James, in the hope of smoothing over any bad relations.

After Kenna asked about how things were going with the French alliance, Mary told her about the security budget (a financial gift for Scotland that Kenna seemed equally happy to receive), but she also mentioned the king of France's reluctance to pay the money to Scotland. It was nice to have somebody to confide in; somebody who was not directly involved with the matchmaking show and could therefore be a little less biased.

"I fear that King Henry will be a constant obstacle in our lives," Mary confessed to Kenna with a sigh.

"I'm sure Francis won't allow that to happen," said Kenna, in what Mary guessed was an attempt at reassurance.

"Hopefully not," said Mary, wishing that she could believe Kenna's words. "I'm not sure I've ever met someone who I dislike more than King Henry," Mary added with an exasperated grin, trying for something close to humour to lighten the mood.

"The king is rather handsome though, isn't he?" Kenna asked with a grin of her own.

"Kenna!" said Mary, unable to hide her disgust at the idea that Kenna thought that King Henry was attractive. It seemed that Kenna had a rather bizarre taste in men.

The two of them looked at each other and burst out laughing.

As they laughed, Mary savoured the moment. She imagined that they were two ordinary girls; two friends who were eating junk food together and sharing amusing stories about embarrassing crushes. Mary had disliked Kenna when she first met her, always seeing her as someone who had somehow manipulated James into making her a queen, as well as someone who would one day throw Mary out of her own home…but lately, she was starting to see that she had been wrong about Kenna.

As the two of them shared tea and cake for dessert, Mary took some time to check through all the latest news and social media updates on her phone. Thankfully, no pictures of Mary's meeting with Conde had emerged, but Mary was shocked and a little hurt to discover that the photos of Francis and Olivia at the party together in France had for some reason been put back into circulation.

Kenna glanced over to see what was holding Mary's attention on the phone screen, and a look of sympathy crossed her face.

"Why did they decide to share those photos again?" Mary asked Kenna, unable to keep the apprehension out of her voice. She would have thought that the pictures of Francis and Olivia would have been old news by now.

"Mary, you have nothing to worry about," Kenna insisted, her calm tone of voice suggesting that she was trying her best to offer reassurance. "Francis loves you; anyone can see that…"

Mary nodded, wanting to believe Kenna's words, but still, the reappearance of the photos had unnerved her.

"I think I need some fresh air," Mary told Kenna as she put her phone down on the nearest table and stood up.

And so Mary and Kenna ended up standing on the balcony just outside Mary's room that overlooked the gardens.

A quick glance around the gardens showed that several members of staff and a team of wedding planners had now arrived. They were all working to prepare the outside of the castle for the wedding celebrations-various decorations were being put up, and tents and stalls and a stage were being set up in order to provide some of tomorrow's food, drink and entertainment in the run up to the wedding ceremony. Kenna's main wedding planner was also directing various other members of staff as they attempted to raise a Scottish and an English flag on one of the top tiers of the castle.

"Oh god," said Kenna, as she also took in the preparations that had begun in the garden, "it's really happening, isn't it?"

She brought both hands up to her face, like she wanted to cover her eyes, and her breathing seemed to be getting heavier. All composure was abandoned now in light of the very real future that was being laid out for her, beyond her control.

Mary recognised a moment of panic when she saw one. "Kenna, it's alright," she whispered, trying to keep her tone of voice calm as she gently patted Kenna's shoulder. "It's all going to be alright."

Mary wasn't sure if she was truly offering any real comfort, and she didn't like to promise that things would be alright when she really wasn't sure if they would be, but what else could she do? What else could she say? She could barely protect herself, let alone anybody else.

The marriage would have to go ahead-Mary could not see a way out of it; not now, when everything had been put into place. Scotland was counting on this marriage for an alliance with England, and for some sort of financial support from their estranged neighbour; if Kenna backed out of this wedding now, it would be a diplomatic disaster. Relations with England would likely never fully recover, and they could kiss goodbye to any sort of English support in the face of any possible disasters. An alliance with France was not yet guaranteed, and so, without the England-Scotland alliance, Scotland would be at great risk of being all alone in the world, with no allies. Kenna knew all that, too; Mary could see it written all over her face.

Like Mary, Kenna understood how it felt, to feel like there was no escape…

"James is a good person, truly he is," Mary continued, hoping that she was getting through to Kenna somehow as a couple of tears started to fall slowly down Kenna's cheeks. "He will always protect you and defend you. And tomorrow, I will be with you every step of the way…"

"Do you promise?" Kenna asked her, her voice still sounding shaky. It was as though they were both about to head into some sort of battle, and Kenna was depending on Mary to walk next to her in order to get through the fight.

"I promise," said Mary.

Mary had only really had two friends throughout her life-Greer and James-but right now, this bond that she seemed to have forged with Kenna felt very similar to those bonds of friendship.

"And can I trust that I will have your friendship and support when I am queen?" Kenna asked her.

Mary wasn't sure exactly what Kenna was asking her-was she simply asking for this friendship to continue, or was she asking for Mary to not put any obstacles in the way of James and Kenna's reign as king and queen of Scotland?

"Of course," said Mary, deciding to believe that Kenna was simply looking for assurance of her friendship.

Kenna managed a smile at that, but she still looked terrified, and her hands continued to shake.

"Remember when we were at school in London?" Mary asked Kenna as she attempted to lighten the mood. "And you used to tell everyone that you would be a queen one day? So many people didn't believe you, and look at you now; you showed us all. You're about to get everything you ever wanted…"

"A lesson to be very careful what you wish for…" said Kenna with a sigh.

Something about those words left Mary feeling even more uncomfortable, as though they were serving as some sort of warning to her, as well as to Kenna.

* * *

Mary fell into a fitful sleep that night.

She dreamed that she was back in the ballroom in France, spinning around and around, moving fast but going nowhere.

Every now and again, she was able to make out the faces of various people in her dream who surrounded her as she span around in circles.

Narcisse was there, dressed in black and white, with his face partially covered by a Venetian mask. He raised his glass in a toast when Mary caught his eye, as though the two of them had accomplished some mysterious task. Or perhaps he had accomplished it all on his own.

Then she span around again and saw Bash. "Your Grace," he greeted her with a smile, holding out his hand to her. He looked impatient, like he was eager to get out of this ballroom, or eager to get out of Mary's dream of the past. It was like he was inviting her to go somewhere else with him; somewhere far away.

Mary span a little further around and saw Louis Conde. He was dressed smartly in one of his work suits. In one hand he was holding a red rose. He held it out to her, tempting her. He opened up his other hand to reveal the tiny silver house charm, which appeared to be sitting on the palm of his hand.

Suddenly, Mary span in a full circle, and she could see Francis, standing in front of her, looking as handsome as ever. In Mary's dream, he was wearing a crown; he was already king. He smiled at her and said her name softly, the word full of love, but then suddenly, he vanished.

Even in her dream, Mary could feel a sense of panic setting in. She span around several more times, desperately trying to find Francis, to see where he had gone…but he did not reappear.

Mary felt more afraid than ever. Everything about the scene now felt wrong…

"Francis!" Mary tried to call out several times, even though the effort of it made her feel breathless.

Mary awoke with a gasp.

She sat up rapidly, struggling to catch her breath.

Her heart was beating fast. She hated revisiting that ballroom, that night, even though she only went there in her mind, in her worst nightmares.

"It was just a dream," she told herself in a whisper, trying to reassure herself.

She covered her eyes with her hands and took a few deep breaths as she tried to slow her breathing and calm herself down.

Eventually, she relaxed enough that she could settle back down to sleep. It was still very early in the morning, and Mary was hoping to get a few more hours of sleep before she had to face the day ahead.

But still something about the dream had unnerved her, and it took her at least another hour before she drifted off again.

This time, Mary was unable to manage much more than a light doze. In her state between sleep and wakefulness, she was sure that she heard the sound of footsteps, along with the constant sound of soft, deadly whispers that seemed to float around the room and through Mary's mind…

" _The plan is in motion…"_

" _It will happen at sunset…"_

Then, she heard a voice that sounded even more sinister: _"You will burn…"_

Mary awoke for the second time with yet another gasp. She sat up and looked around frantically, but her room was silent. Everything was as it had been the night before.

The room almost looked peaceful now, with the morning sunlight filtering in through a gap in the curtains.

Mary shook her head, deciding that she had simply had yet another nightmare. For the past couple of years, she had been prone to nightmares and flashbacks, and she was certain that the voices and the footsteps and the whispers that she'd thought she'd heard all over the castle over the past few weeks were all a part of hallucinations brought on by stress. The fact that she'd also just heard these voices and footsteps in her dreams only seemed to confirm the idea that they were all a figment of her imagination.

Trying to wake herself up a little more, Mary got up from her bed and walked over to the windows.

She took in the view of the gardens and realised that they looked busier than usual, with the banners and stalls and stands now fully set up for the pre-wedding celebrations.

A few of the wedding guests who had arrived at the castle early were already milling about in the gardens, network and making introductions as they posed for a few photographs taken by the castle's official photographers.

Suddenly, Mary's eyes fell on two people in particular.

Mary felt a horrible flash of anger as she saw that Francis and Lola were taking yet another stroll around the gardens together.

She shook her head slowly, glaring at them from a distance, even though they would not see her. What was it about all their strolls in the gardens? Did they really have to do that now, when there were wedding guests from noble families all over the castle grounds? This was not a private event, and people would talk if Francis and Lola appeared to be particularly close, even if that closeness was nothing more than a friendship. Surely Francis knew that? Did he _want_ to be seen with Lola?

A message coming through on Mary's phone served as an annoying reminder that she was expected in the royal dining room in less than twenty minutes. It seemed that she was already running behind schedule. And so Mary was forced to tear her eyes away from the window and start to get ready for what was no doubt going to be a long, tedious day.

Mary went through the motions of getting ready, brushing her hair, applying a little makeup and putting on a rather formal black trousers-and-shirt combination that the stylists had picked out for her yesterday. Mary and her family would be eating in the large dining room in the company of several important wedding guests, and the idea was for Mary to look smart, but at the same time not stand out so much as to take the attention away from James and Kenna.

As she headed to the dining room, she desperately tried to reassure herself that Francis and Lola were just friends, and the two of them had taken plenty of strolls with other people in the gardens over the past couple of weeks, and Mary therefore should not worry herself about what she'd just witnessed.

* * *

When Mary arrived in the dining room, James and Kenna were nowhere to be found. Kenna's absence was understandable, as nobody was expecting to see the bride before the wedding ceremony, but Mary found it a little sad that James had not even bothered to show his face. Perhaps he would refuse to be in the same room as Mary from now on.

Mary made polite conversation with many of the guests, graciously accepting several congratulations on her brother's behalf, but really, all she wanted to do was finish her breakfast and get out of the crowded dining room as soon as possible.

As Mary tried to eat as much as she could of her breakfast, which was rather difficult, as her stomach seemed to have tied itself into a knot since she had spotted Francis and Lola together in the gardens, she glanced over at Narcisse, who was eating at a table in one of the far corners of the room, along with several other members of Mary's Publicity Team. Mary was rather shocked and surprised to see that he looked a little perplexed by something-he looked pale, and like he was barely aware of what was going on around him. He kept staring into the distance, as though his mind was somewhere else.

Before they could all leave the room, Mary's mother stood up to address the guests about the arrangements for the day.

Mary had heard all the plans for the wedding day over and over for the past several months, but still she tried her best to look serious and attentive as her mother spoke.

Mary's mother reminded everyone that the wedding ceremony would be taking place in the castle's private chapel later in the evening. James had already rejected the idea of a wedding on a grander scale in Edinburgh or London. Mary's mother had allowed the press to come to the conclusion that James simply wanted a private, intimate ceremony at home in the castle with the woman he loved, but Mary suspected that James simply could not bear to make the wedding any more public than it already had to be.

The queen then informed the guests that refreshments and entertainment would be provided throughout the day in the run up to the evening ceremony, both in the gardens and in several ground-floor rooms of the castle.

After the evening ceremony had taken place, the queen continued, celebrations would go on into the night, with a party scheduled to take place in the ballroom, and fireworks scheduled to go off at midnight outside in the grounds. Of course, photographers would be present all day to document the event, as Kenna and James had sold the rights to the official wedding photos to a well-known celebrity magazine, and so security measures had been put in place to ensure that no unofficial photos were leaked.

* * *

At last, Mary was allowed to leave the dining room.

She was due to meet with Narcisse and the rest of the team in the television room, where the stylists would be helping Mary to dress in her second outfit of the day-an outfit that would be both elegant and comfortable enough for Mary to walk around the royal gardens and mingle with the wedding guests.

Before Mary could head into the television room however, she took a quick detour and headed back to her own room, so that she could have one more quick glance out of her window at the gardens, to get an idea of which guests she would soon have to talk to out there.

The moment Mary walked back into her room, she had the strange sense that something wasn't right.

After a quick scan around the room, Mary's eyes landed on a large brown envelope that seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere on her desk.

Instantly, Mary felt her heart start to beat faster. That envelope hadn't been there before she left for breakfast, had it? Had somebody been in her room? She hadn't been expecting any official documents to be sent to her today; most official paperwork was sent directly to her mother or her brother anyway.

Mary was torn between a sudden instinct to call for the guards and a feeling of curiosity as to what the envelope contained.

After a few moment's hesitation, Mary took tentative steps towards the envelope on her desk. She was terrified about what she would find, but at the same time, she knew that if she called for the guards, the envelope and its contents would quickly be confiscated as a safety precaution, and then Mary might never know what the envelope contained.

Still Mary's hands were shaking as she slowly started to tear the envelope open, making sure to place a piece of fabric as a barrier between her skin and the envelope, just in case this mysterious letter had been laced with anything deadly.

When the envelope was finally open, Mary put her hand inside it to take out what appeared to be printed copies of a couple of A4 photographs.

The moment Mary looked at the photos, she let out a loud gasp.

The two photographs showed Mary and Conde, sitting opposite each other at the table at the pub in London.

The photos were clear, in sharp focus, leaving no doubt as to the identity of the people in them.

Mary almost dropped the photos in her shock. She felt as though she were holding a poisonous snake in her hands, and she had to get rid of it before it could bite her. But already, she felt as though the venom was coursing through her veins. How could she escape from this particular brand of poison?

Mary's heart started to beat at an alarming rate.

Who had sent these photos to her? And why now, on a day like today?

Was this some sort of blackmail attempt? Was somebody about to phone her or have a letter sent to her, to demand some sort of payment in exchange for silence? Would she have to enter into some sort of negotiation to stop these photos from being leaked to the press?

With her hands still shaking, Mary took her phone out of her pocket and started to run a search on the latest news and gossip about the Scottish royal family, saying a silent prayer that these photos had not yet been leaked, even though this might mean that some sort of blackmail attempt was about to take place.

Unfortunately, tt seemed that Mary's prayers had not been answered, because several gossip sites had already started to publish stories about the princess of Scotland's 'secret meeting' with a handsome politician in London.

The main points and questions of the articles seemed to dance in front of Mary's eyes, taunting her as she felt her heart sink…

_Is the matchmaking show over?_

_What does this mean for the Scottish-French alliance?_

_Does Mary Stuart have a secret lover?_

_Is the matchmaking show a sham?_

Mary was starting to feel dizzy, and like she might vomit. She knew that her state of anxiety was the only thing stopping her from bursting into tears.

"No, no, no…" she said to herself, over and over, like this would change anything.

All of this had been timed, calculated. From the sending of the photos to Mary's room, to remind her all over again that somebody was watching her and intentionally going out of their way to hurt her, to the leaking of the photos to the press, deliberately waiting until the day of James's and Kenna's wedding for all hell to break loose in the media, in order to discredit the matchmaking show and by extension the Scottish royal family.

She could not stand for Francis to see these photos-from the angle they had been taken, and the way that the journalists had span the story, Mary and Conde looked friendly, close, intimate; almost like they were on some sort of date.

This would not look good when viewed from Francis's eyes, especially as Mary had snuck out at night to meet Conde-it would look like she had intentionally kept the meeting a secret; it would look like she had headed to London for the sole purpose of meeting with Conde; it would look like she'd had something to hide.

Francis had told her that he'd understood from the start of the matchmaking show that she might have other suitors, but perhaps he would not be so understanding this time, not after their kiss on the train yesterday and the unspoken understanding the two of them seemed to have reached that they wanted to choose each other. It would look as though Mary had only kissed Francis as a result of her guilt about her actions with Conde…

_You foolish girl!_ Catherine's voice seemed to reappear in her mind to taunt her all over again.

Why had she gone to meet with Conde? Why had she kept the meeting a secret? Why had she met him in such a public place? Why had she assumed that she would be safe from the ever watchful eyes of the press?

Mary's state of panic was momentarily interrupted when her phone began to ring. She jumped, shocked; it seemed that any sudden noise or movement was going to startle her in her current state.

She almost considered not answering her phone, but she saw from the number that the call was from the main office in the castle, and she decided that she'd better hear whatever the senior staff had to say to her.

She could barely even think straight as she pressed the button to answer the phone. She was more than a little surprised when the member of staff from the office informed her that a Louis Conde was on hold on the line, before asking Mary if he could be put through to her.

"Mary?" said Conde, the moment his call connected. "I promise you that I didn't leak those photos to the press…"

Mary felt like she was in a daze. She could barely process what was being said to her. So Conde had seen the photos, too. Mary was sure that half of the population of England must have seen them by now, along with most of the people of Scotland. She had really got the Scottish royal family into a mess.

Up until now, it had not occurred to her that Conde might have leaked the photos in an under-handed attempt to sabotage the matchmaking show, but when she thought about it, she wondered if this thought should perhaps have struck her right from the start.

But from the way Conde was speaking to her-his tone of voice sounding so nervous, so shocked that the photos had got near the tabloids in the first place, Mary was finding it difficult to be suspicious of his actions.

"The Prime Minister is not happy about the pictures of the meeting appearing on the gossip sites," Conde continued, his voice barely more than a whisper now. "He said specifically before I met with you that no details of that meeting were to get out until you officially accepted the job. The English Parliament sees it as something of a conflict of interest. I could be facing an enquiry at work…"

Mary could tell from the stress and the worry in his voice that it was unlikely that he had personally leaked the photos. Perhaps she didn't yet know Conde well enough to believe in his integrity as a person, but she believed in his attachment to his career. Conde loved his job, and it enabled him to live a lifestyle that he enjoyed. If the Prime Minister had asked for Conde's discretion when he met with Mary, then Conde would not have done anything to jeopardise the Prime Minister's trust; not intentionally, anyway; not if it could put his career at risk.

Mary tried her best to reassure him that she did not think that he was responsible, but she could barely focus, and she was relieved when he finally hung up the phone.

It was only as Mary pressed the red button on her own phone that she finally seemed to snap back to her senses.

_Francis_ …

What must he be thinking about all this?

She had to speak with him, explain herself; maybe he hadn't seen the photos yet; maybe she could try to explain things before he had the misfortune of seeing the pictures and the news articles for himself…

Hurriedly, Mary locked the incriminating photos in her desk drawer and ran out of her room.

* * *

Mary ran through the castle's corridors, no doubt breaking all royal protocol. Right now, she didn't care. She had to find Francis.

Mary headed in the direction of the part of the castle where she knew that Francis and his French team had been staying during the filming of the matchmaking show, only for her path to be blocked at the end of a corridor by two French security guards.

They explained to her in a mixture of English and French that Francis had already left over an hour ago to head to the local airfield to meet his parents when their private jet landed.

Mary felt rather foolish. Of course, he had already told her that this was his plan for the morning. She felt a sick sense of dread at the thought of Francis discussing the photos of Mary and Conde with his parents on their way back to the Scottish castle. If they chose to come back at all, that was.

"Is-is he coming back?" Mary couldn't help asking the guards, her voice trembling.

"Of course, Your Highness," one the guards responded. His tone was polite, but Mary noticed that he looked slightly confused by her question, and he seemed to exchange a look with the guard who was standing next to him.

Perhaps they secretly thought that the stress of James's wedding had really got to Mary. Perhaps they would not be too far from the truth.

* * *

And so Mary had no choice but to start to head towards the television room to get ready for the day ahead and wait for Francis to return.

As Mary headed in the direction of the television room, her heart still beating fast, and still feeling sick with nerves, her thoughts finally started to become more organised, angrier instead of panicked.

If she chose to believe that Conde had not leaked the photos, then who had?

She had been almost certain that she'd caught a glimpse of someone looking through the pub window that night; her instincts must have been right all along; she had not simply been seeing things. No doubt it had been a photographer, a member of the press. The photos seemed to have been taken from the angle of somebody looking through the main window.

But how and why had the photographer known to be there in the first place? Who had tipped them off? It could not simply be an unfortunate coincidence, could it?

The only other people who had known about Mary's decision to meet with Conde at the London pub (apart from the English Prime Minister, who had apparently wanted to keep the whole thing secret) were a couple of the Scottish guards, who always swore an oath of secrecy to the Scottish crown when they were officially employed, and would therefore probably not risk their reputation and their livelihood by selling pictures to the media.

But only the guards had been there…and…and…

* * *

Mary didn't even bother knocking before she stormed through the door to the television room.

Narcisse looked up from his phone to stare in Mary's direction. He looked completely worn out, and more than a little stressed. In this moment, Mary didn't care.

"Did you sell me out to the press?!" Mary demanded of him, fighting every urge to simply scream and throw things around the room. "Is this what you have lowered yourself to, to get your petty revenge on France? I hope the money was worth it, Narcisse, because if I find out this is true, you will never receive another penny from Scotland!"

"Leave us," Narcisse demanded of his staff, who all seemed to trip over themselves as they rushed to get out of the room.

Mary felt a rush of irritation that Narcisse could order people around with such authority; it was almost as though he outranked her, in this room.

Narcisse did not shout, or insistently profess his innocence, or deny all knowledge of what Mary was talking about.

Instead, he sighed and slowly sat down in a chair that had been placed right next to the room's chessboard.

"Well?" Mary demanded of him, trying to hold her nerve in light of his eerie calmness.

"Perhaps you will not trust in my own personal integrity," said Narcisse, speaking slowly, with almost a hint of resignation in his voice, "but you can at least trust my professional and financial motives…"

Slowly, Mary sat down opposite him, facing him from the other side of the chessboard. It felt oddly as though the two of them were competing in a game of chess of their own. Mary just wasn't sure how to outmanoeuvre him.

"What good would it have done me?" Narcisse asked her. "What benefit would it have brought me to sell those stories to the press? A one-off financial payment from the media would have been nowhere near as lucrative as a life-long role working for royalty. The doors that such a role can open alone would have been enough to buy my silence, not to mention the salary and the potential connections I could make…It would have served no purpose to me, to discredit you to the media; such an action would have ensured I was blacklisted from any future employment with royals or celebrities. No public figure would work with someone who could not be trusted with their secrets…"

Everything he was saying made sense; it had a logic to it, but still Mary had her suspicions. Narcisse had a much bigger plan; a plan that went far beyond working as a Publicist, and Mary was afraid that she had already become a pawn in his game. "I'm still not sure I believe you," Mary told him with a sigh.

"Maybe you will, when you see the far-reaching consequences that those leaked photos will no doubt have," he muttered, cryptically.

Mary frowned in confusion, but a look of pain crossed Narcisse's face, and Mary was almost afraid to ask him what those consequences might be.

At the look on Narcisse's face, Mary felt the all-too-familiar sense of foreboding that she had carried for the past two years; she felt like something terrible was about to happen.

"And," Narcisse added, "although I'm sure it's escaped your notice, you are not the only one who has been criticised in the media lately…"

As Mary asked him what he was talking about, Narcisse picked up his phone again and pulled up several articles, one after the other.

Mary frowned as she glanced at the articles on his screen. It seemed that her Publicist had faced some sort of attempt to discredit him on the part of the gossip sites over the past few days; one of his ex-girlfriends had sold a story, and several sites had run with it, portraying him as a man who had had numerous 'girlfriends' and affairs, and also as somebody who could not be trusted, in both his personal and his professional relationships. The gossip sites seemed to find it suspicious that he had left France so suddenly to go and work in Scotland, especially in light of the attack on the French castle at the time.

Mary felt a shiver run down her spine as she read all the negative gossip. Somebody was behind this; somebody was out to get the Scottish royal family, and everybody who happened to be connected to them. Stories like these did not appear in the tabloids by accident; somebody was watching their every move; somebody was feeding this information to the press. But who was it?

Mary knew that her mother would be furious about all this, too-publicists were supposed to stay in the background, to not let their own personal lives overtake their client's, and to not bring scandal to their role. But still, Mary couldn't help feeling sorry for Narcisse. He had not put himself out there as a celebrity or as a public figure, and he therefore did not deserve this level of scrutiny in the press.

"Is this the reason why you and Lola have been…arguing recently?" Mary asked him, as she held up the phone, which currently displayed an article that listed all of Narcisse's ex-girlfriends, some of whom were minor celebrities and young women from French noble families, along with the details of some of his messy breakups.

With another sigh, Narcisse nodded. "It seems that these stories have led Lola to doubt that I was taking our…relationship seriously. She fears she will just be another name on my long list of relationship disasters; somebody who I will brag about among friends at the local pubs. Her family is well-connected, but Lola's relatives have faced several scandals and financial losses over the past few years; she does not want to bring anymore scandal to her family's doorstep…"

Mary nodded in acknowledgement of what Narcisse was saying, but she was not really sure what else to say; she wished that she could offer some sort of helpful advice, especially as Narcisse looked genuinely disappointed by Lola's rejection.

"I have already tried to gain back control of the narrative, with regards to you and Conde," Narcisse went on to explain, turning the subject back to Mary's predicament, as though the matter of his potential guilt was now closed, and they were back to having one of their usual meetings. "I have put out an official statement that Conde is a long-time friend of yours, and a friend of your brother's, and that you were simply meeting socially with several of your friends during your free time in London. It was easy enough to spin the story a little and place you and Conde at other previous events that you have attended with your family over the years; enough to explain some kind of friendship between the two of you, or mutual friends, at least. Your friend Greer has even agreed to tell the press that you also met with her while you were in London, to make the story about meeting with several of your friends look more authentic. I have also implied that it is not the business of the press to intrude on your private life, or your friendships. It should keep the focus off the gossip for a little while, anyway, so you mother can focus on her son's wedding day…"

And so Mary was left with no choice but to thank him for his efforts as a few of the stylists headed back into the room. Narcisse was at least still doing his job as her Publicist, and helping her to manage this publicity crisis. She tried not to think too much about how her mother would have reacted when Narcisse first explained all of this to her; Mary was already dreading having to face her later in the day.

Narcisse briefly left the room so that the stylists could dress her in her next outfit.

When she was ready, Mary stood for a little while and looked at herself in the full-length mirror.

The stylists had dressed her in a long, flowing yellow skirt, coupled with a white shirt. Her makeup was minimal, making her look young and fresh-faced, and her hair was flowing in loose curls over her shoulders. They had even pinned a white flower into her hair; it looked similar to the flower that Kenna had worn yesterday evening, yet while Kenna was able to make this look seem both casual and stylish, Mary simply looked childlike.

She knew exactly what Narcisse and his team were doing-they were trying to make her look young, innocent; they wanted her to look like a teenager who only cared about appearing on a dating show, and not a woman who had taken the dating process into her own hands and entered into potentially conflicting political negotiations with another rival country. Who would believe that she even had the capacity to do anything like that, when she was strolling through the gardens in a flowing skirt and a flower in her hair, no doubt grinning serenely whenever she was asked about the matchmaking show?

This look was a far cry from her queen-like appearance when she had been giving her speech in London, Mary realised as Narcisse walked back into the room, and already, Mary was not very happy about it.

"You need to play up to this role today," Narcisse instructed her in a low voice as he paced up and down behind Mary, who was still looking in the mirror. "Look and act sweet and innocent, talk about how much you're looking forward to the wedding, how well you already get along with your soon to be sister-in-law, how much you're enjoying spending time with Francis. Smile, flip your hair over your shoulder, look interested in what people have to say, maybe even try to blush a little as you talk about your dates with Francis; do whatever you need to do…Mary," he added, his voice lower still, "it's very important that you come across as non-threatening today. Any talk of your negotiations in London could jeopardise your family's alliance with France. Get through the wedding, and we can handle…other matters from tomorrow."

Mary wanted to protest; she did not want to play the innocent teenager who was flirting with a handsome prince anymore. She wanted to be strong, credible in her own right; she wanted to face this crisis head on. But Narcisse was looking so worried, and Mary suspected he had a lot more at stake at the moment than just his employment, and for her part, Mary was determined to do anything to avoid jeopardising her bond with Francis.

Mary sighed as she headed out of the television room. She already felt defeated. And she was no closer to discovering the mystery behind the leaked photos. If she chose to believe that Narcisse had nothing to gain from tipping off the press about her location that night, then who had betrayed her? Mary still had no idea.

* * *

Things did not get better when Mary arrived at the gardens.

She stepped outside in time to see Francis agreeing to pose for a photograph with Lola. The two of them stood with their arms around each other, and Mary really felt like kicking something.

So Francis had returned from meeting his parents, but he had not rushed to find Mary. He had gone to talk to Lola instead. It seemed that Francis's parents had deemed the pre-wedding celebrations to be beneath them, as they had not joined the other guests in the gardens; either that, or they were no longer even bothering to pretend that they wanted to play nice with Scotland. This thought was even more unsettling than the other one.

Another unsettling thought suddenly appeared in Mary's mind-had Catherine and Henry been behind the leaked photos? Had Catherine sent someone to follow Mary in London? Had Henry had copies of the photos sent directly to Mary's room as a way of scaring her, in the same way that he had sent his list of demands? Mary would not put it past them. She just wasn't sure what they would have to gain, from such a public humiliation of Scotland.

A few more photographers took photos of Francis and Lola, reminding Mary of the problem at hand. It was not good for Mary, if Francis was being so open about his friendship with Lola in front of all of the photographers and guests. As much as she hated to think about it, Mary suspected that he must have already found out about her meeting with Conde, and now the French royal family were fighting back.

For her part, Lola did not look like she was enjoying the attention. Every now and then, she glanced over her shoulder, a sad expression on her face as she looked up at the window that marked the place where Narcisse sometimes liked to stand to look out at the royal gardens.

Lola might have been trying to do the right thing by her family, but it seemed her heart had other ideas.

Mary also noticed Greer and Aloysius, but they were not walking around the gardens together. They were standing at opposite ends of the garden with their backs to one another. Mary wasn't sure where the thought was coming from, but something about their body language made her think that they were deliberately avoiding each other.

Amidst all of this tension, it took all of Mary's strength to head out into the gardens and mingle with the guests. A part of her wanted to just run over to Francis and ask him if he had seen the photos, but Mary knew that she could not do that; not here, not now, when they were surrounded by guests in the build up to a big, official event.

Mary took slow, tentative steps in Francis's direction. A part of her wanted to turn and run and never have to face any of this, but she knew that she couldn't do that; not here, not now, when it felt like the eyes of the people of Scotland were upon her. She had to be brave and do her duty.

Mary was forced to stop and make polite conversation with several of the wedding guests along the way. It was extremely tedious, to have to smile and be polite and make the same comments over and over about how much she was enjoying taking part in the matchmaking show, especially as murmurs and whispers seemed to follow her with every step she took. Mary didn't know if people were whispering about the tabloid pictures of Mary and Conde, or the fact that Francis and Lola had been standing next to each other in the gardens for the past several minutes. Mary wasn't sure if she wanted to find out.

Francis seemed to register Mary's approach as she got closer to him, but his face did not appear to light up at her arrival the way it had done yesterday when the two of them had glanced at each other.

Instead, he bowed politely to her, while the photographers and the camera crew from the matchmaking show gathered around to capture the moment.

Lola seemed to take a few steps away from the scene, blending back into the crowd. Mary suspected that she was glad to get away.

A member of the film crew suggested that Mary and Francis take a stroll around the gardens together, amongst all the guests and the stalls and the decorations that had been put up for the wedding celebrations, so that the scene could be filmed and used as part of the show.

And so Mary and Francis walked side by side through the gardens, with a camera crew and several photographers in tow.

Things did not seem as happy or as light-hearted as they had been yesterday, and Mary knew that she could not blame the presence of the cameras this time for the unspoken tension between the two of them.

The expression on Francis's face was almost unreadable, and the two of them seemed to resort to making polite conversation about the weather and the upcoming ceremony. Mary felt like they were right back at square one, back when they had walked awkwardly through the gardens the morning after the matchmaking show had started.

Mary knew that her efforts to appear happy and content in Francis's presence for the sake of the cameras were no better. She still felt sick with fear over the recent photos, and she was sure the tension was written all over her face, and in her body language.

She also felt angry with Francis, for allowing the pictures with Olivia to resurface, and for allowing himself to be photographed with Lola, and she was annoyed at not being allowed any privacy on a day like today to discuss things with Francis, and it was difficult not to just glare right at the cameras as a result.

Mary wasn't sure if the constant approach of wedding guests was an irritation or a welcome interruption.

Greer waved encouragingly as Mary and Francis walked past her, but she seemed to be doing her best to put on a brave face, as she let out a sigh when she thought that Mary was no longer looking at her, and her eyes looked a little red, like she'd been crying. Mary felt angry all over again that she would not be allowed much time today to speak to her best friend and find out what was wrong.

* * *

Finally, the camera crew had all the footage they needed, and Mary was ushered back inside to speak to several of the guests who had gathered for refreshments. She almost felt relieved, to get away from the gardens, and to get away from that unreadable expression on Francis's face.

She managed to play the role of sweet, innocent teenager for all of fifteen minutes in the throne room before everything started to get too much. The room felt too hot, too crowded, and she had too much on her mind. She excused herself, telling the guests that she was going to take a quick break and insisting that she would be back soon.

* * *

Mary hurried up a flight of stairs and paused in a corridor on the first floor with its large windows that provided a decent view of the gardens.

Mary leaned her forehead against the windows, taking deep breaths. She felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic. She wished that everybody would leave the castle, and that this day could just be over. She couldn't even begin to imagine what James and Kenna would be feeling right now.

The sky had started to go grey, and Mary noticed that the majority of the wedding guests were heading back inside, now that there was a threat of rain.

She was glad that she had already escaped the confines of the throne room, as the majority of the guests would no doubt head into there, seeking warmth after spending time outside.

Mary was distracted by the sound of footsteps behind her.

She sensed who it was before he even moved to stand next to her by the window.

Mary turned her head a little to the side to see Francis standing next to her.

He looked handsome, even though his golden curls already looked a little dishevelled after what had been a morning of greeting his parents on the airfield and then spending time outside in the gardens. There were touches of gold in his outfit today, too-in his tie and on several rings he wore on his fingers; Mary guessed that the rings all bared various symbols of France and French royalty.

Francis seemed to be taking deep breaths, as though preparing some great speech. He looked stressed out, conflicted.

In spite of all of this, Mary could not shake off an image of Francis and Lola, together in the gardens. Already, her anger was threatening to overwhelm her, especially when it was mixed in with so much anxiety about her brother's upcoming wedding ceremony.

The feeling of jealousy was almost unbearable; it was clouding her judgement, preventing her from thinking rationally. It all made for a toxic combination.

"What are you doing?" Mary asked him, before he could say anything to her. "Do you really think it's appropriate, to be seen in so many photographs with Olivia and Lola, when we are in the middle of a matchmaking show?"

A long, tense silence seemed to follow Mary's question.

"Mary, I know," Francis said finally with a sigh. "About the meeting with Conde. It seems that it's all the gossip magazines can talk about at the moment, both in Scotland and in France…"

Mary practically felt her heart break at Francis's announcement. She'd had a feeling that he already knew, so why did it hurt so much, to have this truth confirmed to her?

As though her inner thoughts wanted to torment her, Mary couldn't help wondering how Francis had found out. Had Catherine and Henry thrust the pictures right under his nose when he'd met them at the airfield this morning? Had a mysterious envelope containing the photos been delivered directly to his room? Had he simply been searching through the Internet, looking for any photos of the Edinburgh and London trip, and he had stumbled upon the photos of Mary and Conde instead? Perhaps the French royals had already been tipped off that photos such as these were about to appear-yesterday evening, maybe, when Mary had still been in her false sense of security, happily believing that a future with Francis was easily within her grasp. Maybe that was why they had allowed the photos of Francis and Olivia to be circulated by the press again, as some sort of pre-emptive strike; maybe that was why Francis was being encouraged to be seen with Lola now.

Mary felt shaken, and a little unsteady on her feet, but she knew that she had to say something; she knew that she had to keep her head above water in this discussion. If she took all the blame here, or if she begged for forgiveness, then she would look like the only guilty party, and that would allow for the king and queen of France to have far too much control in upcoming proceedings. They would demand more, give less in return, use the incriminating pictures as blackmail, expect Scotland to concede to more demands laid down by France in order to keep the matchmaking show running smoothly. Mary had to protect her own country, more than she had to protect her heart.

"And so this is an act of revenge?" Mary asked him, struggling to keep her voice steady.

A look of anguish seemed to cross Francis's face for the briefest of moments, but he seemed to find his composure as he responded: "It's much more complicated than that, Mary."

"Those photos meant nothing!" said Mary, annoyed with herself for sounding like a petulant child. "There is _nothing_ going on between Conde and I!"

"You're considering him, Mary!" Francis snapped at her, raising his voice in a way that he hardly ever did. "It would be so much easier for both of us, and for the matchmaking show, if you could at least admit it…"

Mary had never given Conde any serious consideration as her suitor, had she? Surely she would know this deep down, if it really were the case? Why was Francis trying to tell her how she thought and felt?

"Conde and I are friends. You have nothing to prove that there is any truth to the rumours that I am considering him in a romantic sense. Perhaps you are simply using false newspaper stories as an excuse to enjoy _your_ flirtations with other women!" Mary snapped back at him, voicing an insecurity that she had held throughout the matchmaking show. She hated the idea of Francis preferring to spend time with women who were not her.

"I had already heard rumours that Conde was going to officially put himself forward as your suitor," said Francis. "The two of you have met before, in France, and if he was not a serious option for you, then there would not have been so much secrecy around your meeting; a secret meeting that has now backfired terribly on both of our countries!"

"You accuse me of dishonesty," said Mary, not even trying to keep her voice down, "and yet you have clearly not been honest with _me_ about just how close you are to Lola!"

The two of them were fully arguing now, facing each other by the large castle window, neither of them troubling to keep their voices down. Mary could only hope that there were no wedding guests close by, as this argument would only bring more disgrace upon the royals, if it was overheard.

Mary could hardly believe that this was happening; she didn't know how they had got here, to this argument, when less than twenty-four hours ago, everything had been so perfect to between them. Who had done this to them? Was all of this really Mary's fault and Mary's fault alone? Who had been responsible for taking those photos and selling them to the media?

"I have to consider other options, too!" said Francis, his tone of voice sounding slightly desperate now. "You are considering Conde, in the same way that you were considering an engagement to Sebastian, and now that your secret meeting with Conde is out there for the world to speculate over, I have to have some kind of backup, Mary, in case the matchmaking show does not work out, or our families are unable to reach an agreement. Taking part in the matchmaking show was a huge risk in itself, for France, and if the process were to end with you accepting the hand of another, and France leaving with nothing, then it would be _humiliating_ for my country!"

Francis talked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Mary suspected that Catherine had given him this speech over and over; she must have put all of this out there as a warning, and put all of these ideas into Francis's head, back when Francis had first agreed to appear on the matchmaking show. And Mary's behaviour with Conde and Bash had no doubt played into all of those insecurities.

But Mary had her own heart, and her own mind, and her own country to consider. She didn't think that she had done anything wrong by not bowing to France's every whim during the matchmaking process. Francis could just as easily reject her, regardless of what happened with Conde, and then where would that leave _her_ at the end of the show? Or was that not important, because she was not an heir to a throne? Was everybody okay with her leaving with nothing, as long as the kings were all right? Why should she not have other options, too?

"My behaviour with Conde, and your fears about France, do not justify your behaviour with Lola, or with Olivia!" Mary responded, unable to back down now that she was so angry. "And you know it!"

"This is not about petty revenge, Mary," said Francis, sounding equally irritated. "I could become king of France at any moment, and there is a threat of instability if I become a young king who is trying to rule alone, with no queen by my side and no allies. I should not even be revealing this to you, but a strong alliance between England and Scotland could potentially be a threat to a vulnerable France, especially if we lose our alliance with Italy. If Conde has offered you such an alliance, and there is even a possibility that you are considering it, then I have to think about my own reign…"

Mary felt another sense of despair wash over her. Francis was speaking as a future king now, putting his country before everything else and keeping his heart locked away. It seemed as though the photos with Conde had injured his pride more than his heart, and Mary wasn't sure why this bothered her so much.

"I will give you every fair consideration in this matchmaking show," Mary told him, somehow unable to stop herself from talking as though she were in the middle of a business negotiation. "My Publicist will clear up any…confusion about the pictures with Conde. All I am asking from you in return is that you prevent any photos with Lola from appearing in the papers tomorrow morning, and that you put a stop to any gossip or speculation that you are considering her as one of your options…"

Mary could not stand the thought of photos and stories about Francis and Lola's 'friendship' appearing in the papers tomorrow, on the day after James's wedding. Things would be difficult enough, after James and Kenna were married, without Mary having to read rumours about Francis and Lola. Surely Francis could see that? Surely he would understand?

"I'm sorry, Mary," said Francis, as he turned away from her to look out the window, "I can't promise to do that…"

Mary let out what was almost a scream of frustration as she threw her hands up in the air. With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away from Francis.

She was sure that she heard Francis calling after her, but she ignored him. She was so angry, and hurt, and she had nothing more to say to him at the moment.

* * *

Mary's rapid walk soon turned into a run. She ran down a flight of stairs, and through a corridor, ignoring a few of the guests who gave her strange looks as she passed.

She pushed open the large double doors that led out into the gardens, which were now thankfully empty, and she ran past the now empty stalls and drinks stands.

Her mind barely knew where she was going, but her feet seemed to carry her along all the same.

Mary ran faster, hoping that if she ran fast enough, she could somehow outrun the images of Francis and Lola and Olivia that seemed to be dancing around in circles in her mind, tormenting her.

How would they spin the news stories, if Francis decided not to forgive Mary for her meeting with Conde?

Would they tell a fairy tale-like story of how Francis had travelled to Scotland for an arranged marriage with a princess, and had fallen for a 'commoner' instead? The public would love that-the tale of the underdog; the 'ordinary girl' who had won the heart of a prince.

Or would they tell another tale, of how the matchmaking show had only served to show Francis that he had truly been in love with his ex-girlfriend all along, and now he missed her and wanted her back?

Or would the press take the more pragmatic route, and focus on how Francis had simply switched one useful alliance for another?

None of these options were anywhere near tolerable; there was no comfort to be found in any of these possible stories; Mary could hardly stand the thought of any of it.

And the way Francis had just spoken about 'other options'; he'd seemed so cold, so business-like.

Mary thought about how Francis had kissed her under the tree, telling her that he would have chosen her, if the choice had been his and his alone; she thought about how the two of them had danced together in Paris; she thought about how Francis had kissed her on the train as it travelled through the Scottish countryside, the two of them seeming to share so many unspoken feelings in that kiss; she thought about all the times when Francis had held her hand, how he had held her and comforted her when she cried. It had all felt so real, as though something deep and meaningful had taken place between the two of them.

But had any of it been real? Had it truly meant anything? Had it all just been for the cameras, for the show? Was Mary just another option to Francis, too? A means to an end? A useful alliance?

* * *

Finally, Mary arrived at the place where her anger and her confusion had carried her.

She leaned against a tree at the end of the gardens, gasping for breath.

The garden wall was only a few feet ahead of her. She could just keep running, climb right over it, escape from this ridiculous wedding ceremony of her brother's, run away from her argument with Francis…

"Mary?"

Mary turned to look over her shoulder at the sound of an all-to-familiar voice.

She was not standing too far away from the stables, and she saw Bash approach her from around the back of the small building.

"Mary, are you all right?" Bash asked her as he got closer.

Mary noticed that he was holding what looked like a bottle of vodka in his left hand, and she suspected that Bash had been sharing a few drinks with the other members of staff who worked in the gardens, all of them trying to pass the time as they waited for the evening celebrations to commence.

There were also several packed bags piled up by the stable door, and Mary wondered who they belonged to. Was Bash going somewhere?

Bash looked so concerned for her wellbeing that Mary almost felt guilty for interrupting his moment of merriment with his colleagues. She was sure that her bad mood would be enough to bring down anyone's mood.

With a sigh, Mary felt her body sink down so that she was sitting down on the grass. It was like her legs could no longer bear the weight of all the heavy thoughts in her head.

Slowly, Bash sat down next to her, his movements cautious. He watched her for a few moments, as though trying to read the expression on her face.

Wordlessly, Mary held out a hand, silently demanding a sip of the vodka. She needed something to soothe her nerves, to help take the edge off the day.

Looking like he was fighting off a grin, Bash handed the bottle over to her.

Mary took a long sip, and then another, while Bash watched her with a raised eyebrow.

"Mary, I'm here for you if you need to talk about anything," he said slowly, looking even more concerned now.

Mary stared back at him for a long while. She hadn't gone to the stables with the deliberate intention of confiding in Bash, but, as she opened her mouth to insist that everything was fine, she somehow ended up ranting to Bash instead; she told him everything about Francis, and Lola, and Olivia, and the pictures with Conde.

"But of course," she rambled, already starting to feel a little light-headed from the strong alcohol on an empty stomach, " _I_ get all the blame for agreeing to…platonically meet with Conde in London, while Francis can stay in touch with his ex throughout this process and pose for official photos with women with…with no recourse…Perhaps _I_ could get away with more, if I were an heir to a throne, in the same way that everyone has turned a blind eye to my older brother's indiscretions...Pretend you didn't hear that last part…"

Mary paused briefly to take another sip of the drink, certain that she probably sounded incoherent now.

"Am I being unreasonable?" she asked Bash, hoping for a second opinion. "Is this all my fault?"

"No," Bash answered, almost immediately. "Why shouldn't you have other options? Anyway, Francis would be a fool to let you go. He must know how lucky he would be to win your heart. Why would he throw away his opportunity for happiness? Surely he sees you and only you…

Mary shifted around a little to look right at Bash, trying to read between the lines of what he was saying…

He spoke with such conviction in his voice. Mary wished that Francis would talk to her like that, look at her like that; she wished that Francis would look and see only her; she wished that he would make her a priority over the crown; she wished that the two of them could put their happiness first.

Bash looked right back at her, his expression intense.

Francis was going to allow his pictures with Lola to appear in the magazines tomorrow. People were going to speculate over those pictures, and Mary would no doubt be left humiliated. People were also going to talk about the nature of her relationship with Conde, now that those pictures were in circulation, and it seemed unlikely that she would escape criticism.

Mary could barely think clearly, but still her jumbled-up thoughts seemed to be trying to come up with some sort of solution.

Mary looked into Sebastian's blue eyes.

If she was going to be disgraced in the media, Mary's mixed up thoughts decided, then she might as well give Francis and the royal family and the general public something to truly be angry about; she might as well have her revenge, before Francis got his…

Mary leaned forward a little, towards Bash.

Bash seemed to get the hint immediately, because he moved even closer to her.

And then Mary's lips were on his.

Kissing Bash felt almost like some kind of inevitable conclusion after their weeks of silent flirtation in the village before the matchmaking show got started; perhaps they both would have ended up here sooner, if Mary had had no other responsibilities.

The younger version of herself who still seemed to live somewhere in Mary's head, dreaming about riding around London on motorbikes with bad boys, was secretly sort of pleased by all of this.

Bash was not slow, or careful. He kissed with a passion, an urgency. It reminded Mary of running through the wilderness, or riding on horseback into an unpredictable future…

Kissing Bash was thrilling, but it was nothing like her kisses with Francis…Mary did not feel as though the world around her had faded away, leaving only two people; time did not seem to stand still; all of her most precious memories did not dance before her eyes…

For a few moments, this act of revenge was nothing more than the press of lips on lips, but it wasn't long before Bash made a move to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly, Mary felt all of her senses snap back to reality.

What was she doing? This was not like kissing Francis, she already knew that; it was nowhere near as perfect, as special, as emotional. If she continued to kiss Bash like this, if she let this happen, then it was unlikely that she would get to kiss Francis again, and some deep part of Mary's soul did not want to let go of Francis…

Quickly, she moved away from Bash, effectively ending the kiss.

Bash looked disappointed, but not surprised by Mary's actions.

"I'm sorry," Mary spluttered, sobering up in a matter of moments as the guilt started to consume her. "That was a mistake; I shouldn't have done that…"

She moved even further away, and then, to Mary's horror, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

As the sense of guilt was replaced by a feeling of dread, Mary turned her head slowly to her right to see Francis, standing only a few feet away from her, his face a mixture of surprise, shock and devastation.

Mary felt like she was frozen to the spot, unsure what she was supposed to do, or say. All she could feel was a feeling of utter horror.

Why him, of all people? Why did _Francis_ have to stumble upon them, in this moment? How must it have looked, from his point of view? How would Mary have felt, if she had stumbled upon Francis kissing Lola, or Olivia?

For some reason, Mary became aware of the fact that Francis had changed into a casual grey jumper and faded jeans; he must have gone back to his room to change, Mary realised, putting all the sharp pieces together in her mind. He must have been going for a more casual look, so he could step out of his role as future king for a little while; so he could try to communicate as a normal person. He must have been trying to find Mary, so that they could talk. Maybe he had even wanted to apologise to her. And instead, he had found her kissing Bash at the end of the royal gardens, less than half an hour after Mary had insisted that she was not considering other men.

She had never seen that look on Francis's face before; it was as though the mask and the crown had fallen away, and now he was just an ordinary boy, watching in horror as Mary kissed somebody else; somebody who Mary had already suggested that she was prepared to marry, in order to stop Francis's father from taking over Scotland.

Through Francis's eyes, it must have seemed as though Mary and Bash had secretly been kissing all along; it must have looked as though they had been secret lovers from the start, unable to be together due to Mary's forced participation in the matchmaking show; all of Mary's words and promises and kisses with Francis must have looked like a lie, a performance for the cameras, a duty to her country…

What had she done?

Abruptly, Francis turned on his heel and started to walk away.

Within moments, he had vanished from Mary's view.

"Francis!" Mary heard herself call out, already on her feet.

She had to go after him; she had to explain; she could not let him go.

As she started to run after Francis, she was vaguely aware of the sound of Bash calling out to her, as though he was pleading with her not to go after him, to save herself from the drama, to let it all go and simply stay with him instead, but Mary barely heard him.

"I'm sorry!" she called out to Bash from over her shoulder, before she continued in her pursuit of Francis.

* * *

Mary ran back in the direction that she had come from, but Francis was nowhere to be found.

She was starting to panic now. The wedding ceremony was fast approaching, and Mary was already expected in the television room, where she was due to start getting ready, and still she could not find Francis.

Already, a few guards seemed to be searching for her in the gardens. Time was running out. If Mary could not get to Francis before the ceremony, if she could not explain things from her point of view, then they would have little time to talk for the rest of the night, and the consequences could be disastrous by the next morning.

Mary was forced to hide behind a few of the trees to escape the guards' view as she continued her search for Francis. She managed to run to the front of the castle, searching the front gardens and up and down the long driveway that led to the castle's main gates, but still she could not find him.

Mary ran back through to the gardens on the other side of the castle, trying desperately to retrace her steps. She was running out of energy.

Finally, she was forced to lean against a tree in the far corner of the gardens to catch her breath.

She was just contemplating going back inside and continuing her search for Francis in the castle, and maybe even begging the French guards to allow her to enter the French royal family's private quarters to see if Francis was there, when she heard the sound of footsteps from behind her.

Mary turned her head to see Francis walking towards her.

She remained frozen to the spot, still struggling to catch her breath, unsure what to do, what to say.

She felt her chest tighten as she took in the expression on Francis's face-he looked so lost, so tired, so conflicted. She was sure that his expression matched her inner turmoil.

"Francis," said Mary in barely more than a whisper. She had so much to say; she knew that she had to explain herself, before all hope was lost, but right now, she was lost for words.

Francis looked so beautiful, with his messy blond curls and his casual grey jumper, but Mary felt too ashamed, too afraid to think too much about his beauty right now. It was almost painful to think about it.

Francis opened his mouth as though to say something, but he seemed to be equally lost for words.

Finally, he took a rapid step towards her, and placed his hands gently on her cheeks, and then he was kissing her.

Mary kissed him back, losing her trail of thought for a few moments in favour of obeying her body's instincts.

Kissing Francis always felt so wonderful, so magical, but something about this kiss also felt disturbingly final; it was like Francis was taking what he could while he could…it was almost like a goodbye kiss.

Feeling frantic, desperate, Mary put her arms around Francis's neck, trying to bring him in closer, trying to hold on, trying not to let him go. She could not let him go.

But, all too soon, Francis ended the kiss. He took a step back, the look of anguish still written all over his face, but now, that look was mixed in with a look of determination.

With his hands held out as though silently asking Mary not to come any closer, he looked at her, as though he was trying to memorise her, trying to take in everything about her.

"Marry Sebastian, Mary," he told her after a long silence, his voice sounding pained. "He is the one you always run to, even though he has nothing to offer your family or your country in return. He is the one you seem care about, deep down, without conditions or promises. Men like Conde and I will only ever be an alliance to you, even if you don't see that yet. Sebastian could make you truly happy, and I only want you to be happy…"

Mary felt as though the gardens were spinning around. She felt dizzy, breathless. She felt like she was trapped in the ballroom in France, under attack with no prospect of escape.

What was Francis doing? What was he saying? This could not be happening.

"Francis, no…" she heard herself mutter, but Francis ignored her.

"I was naïve," he continued, "to think that an alliance between two rival families, bourne out of a television show, could ever really work. It was unfair of your family to force you into this process; you should not have to bear the weight of your country's burdens on your shoulders…"

"I _want_ to bear the weight of my country's burdens!" Mary heard herself shout out. She almost placed her hand to her lips in shock at these words; for years, she had wanted to run away from her role as a royal, but now, as she spoke these words out loud, she knew deep in her heart that they were true. She loved Scotland, and she was determined to do anything to protect her beloved country. What good would it do, to flirt with handsome young men in the local village, if her country went to ruin? What would be the point of any of it, if she could do nothing to save Scotland?

For a moment, Francis seemed to stare intently at her, looking equally shocked by her words. But then he shook his head, like he didn't want to believe that they were true, and the resolute look reappeared on his face.

"Perhaps it's for the best that we stop all of this now," he said, "before we go even further and we both end up getting badly hurt…"

"Francis, don't do this…" Mary practically pleaded with him.

Something about him was so cold now, so distant; it was like he had already shut down; it was like he was already gone.

"France will continue to pay the security money," said Francis, as though these words were somehow supposed to offer any sort of comfort. "I'll do what I can to protect Scotland. I will not allow the press to discredit you. We'll release an official statement to say that we parted on good terms…"

"Francis…" Mary said simply as she shook her head. What else could she say? Francis did not seem to be listening. She felt her own body starting to shut down; her mind could barely comprehend that this was happening.

"I don't have the luxury of choosing happiness over a crown, Mary," Francis continued. Now, his voice almost sounded like it was breaking. "But you do. I will have to agree to a marriage alliance that will be in the best interest of France; I will have to protect France, in the way that your brother has to marry to protect Scotland. But you don't have to do that. Please, Mary, be happy; choose with your heart…"

Francis looked at though he had so much more to say, but it seemed that words had now failed him.

With one last look at Mary, Francis turned around and started to walk away, heading back in the direction of the castle.

Mary took a step forward, as though to chase after him, but then her mind seemed to tell her that there would be no point. Something about the look on Francis's face, something about the way he had kissed her, told Mary that he had already made his decision.

Mary could barely think straight; she could barely breathe. The world around her seemed cold, dark, empty.

Vaguely, she was aware of the fact that she had to head back to the castle to start getting ready. She attempted to put one leg in front of the other, to start moving, but her legs felt like lead. Her whole body felt heavy. A weight seemed to have settled onto her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Barely even aware of her surroundings now, Mary felt her whole body sink down to the ground.

She remained seated on the grass, under the tree, no longer caring that her skirt was probably going to be ruined by all the mud; no longer caring about anything.

She stared out into the gardens, lost in thought…

How had she managed to unravel things so quickly? How had she messed things up so badly, in the space of just a day? Yesterday, Mary had been so sure, so certain. Francis had seemed to look back at her with an equal certainty in his eyes. Mary had chosen to only wear the key over her heart, a key that she had associated with Francis for quite a while now, making a symbolic gesture of her loyalty. She had kissed Francis on the train, never wanting to kiss anybody else again, only Francis. The two of them had held hands and shared secret smiles, and Mary had wanted to make things work between them; she had even been prepared, for the first time ever, to take on the role that would have been expected of her in France, if it meant getting to be with Francis.

And now it was all over.

* * *

Mary wasn't sure how long she sat there defeated on the ground. Perhaps it was minutes, or maybe even hours.

Without warning, it started to rain, the droplets falling heavily on Mary's head and shoulders. A part of Mary knew that she should take shelter, get out of the cold; her mother would be furious, if Mary allowed her hair to get wet so close to the wedding ceremony, but a greater part of Mary no longer cared. She continued to stare at nothing in particular, unmoved. She wasn't sure if she would ever get up again.

In the midst of the downpour, she was vaguely aware of the outline of somebody walking towards her.

She blinked a few times and saw a hand reaching out to help her up, and Mary had no choice but to take it.

She was helped to her feet and found herself standing almost face to face with Sebastian. His was perhaps not the hand that she wanted to be holding right now, but given her circumstances, she would have to take all the help that she could get.

"Are you all right?" Bash asked her as he looked her up and down, a look of real concern crossing his face. He must have known that something had gone terribly wrong, for a girl to be sitting outside on the ground in the pouring rain, less than two hours away from her brother's wedding, at which she was going to be bridesmaid.

A long silence passed between them as Bash waited for her answer.

"I'm leaving the castle tomorrow," Mary heard her voice announce, even though she had been unaware that she was going to say it, or that such a thing was even going to happen. Yet, as she said it out loud, she felt a strange sort of certainty; it was as though she had already made the decision during the time that she had been sitting on the cold ground, before Bash had arrived to help her up. Already, Mary knew that this escape attempt would be shrouded in secrecy, and she felt like she just had to tell someone; someone who had plenty of secrets of his own.

If Francis was going to arrange another marriage on Scottish soil, if the French royal family was going to formally put in a request to withdraw from the matchmaking process, if Mary's brother was going to continue to ignore her, then Mary could not stand to be around to watch it all unfold.

Bash frowned at her. "Mary, wha-"

"It's over. It's all over; the matchmaking show…F-Francis…" her voice really was trembling now, but still she could not back out of her decision. "My mother does not have long left to live. James will soon be king. There is nothing here for me anymore…"

Bash did not look thrilled by this news, in the way that Mary had assumed he might have been thrilled when the show had first got started. Instead he looked genuinely sorry for her. "Where will you go?" he asked.

At first, Mary started to shrug, but she knew that she could not be so indecisive about her course of action; not anymore; not now that she had so few other options left; not now that she was on her own. "To England, at first; I have to get out of Scotland for a little while. I…I w-will go to London, somewhere close to G-Greer…"

Mary wasn't sure if her voice was shaking out of cold or fear now.

"B-Bash," she continued, as he held both of her hands in his, like he was trying to share his warmth with her, "nobody can k-know about this, especially not my family; t-they would n-never let me go…."

Even as Mary said this, she was not so sure. Perhaps they would be glad to be rid of her. But still, Mary was running away, and they both knew it, and so her actions would have to remain a secret.

"Mary, I'm so sorry," Bash told her with a sigh. He sounded like he meant it, too. "This is all my fault. I should never have kis-"

"Bash, no," Mary insisted, her voice sounding a little stronger now. "You shouldn't blame yourself. This is the fault of my own actions, and mine and Francis's failure to communicate and be honest with one another, and now I have to live with the consequences…"

Bash looked like he had something to say about that, but he seemed to hold back at the last moment. "I'll go with you," he said instead, his voice sounding just as determined.

"Bash, I can't ask you to do that," said Mary. She had already let so many people down, and she could not ask Bash to give up his employment and his income for her sake.

"Mary, I was already planning on leaving anyway," he confessed.

Mary remembered how there had been several packed bags placed close to the stables earlier, and she realised that they had belonged to Bash. She had sensed for the past few days that he would not be staying much longer at the Scottish castle. But who, or what, was he running away from?

"There is nothing left here for me anymore, either," Bash continued. "I cannot go into detail, but believe me when I tell you that I must get away from Scotland for a little while, too. I will run anyway, but it would be easier to have somebody by my side along the way. I was planning on leaving this evening, but I can wait until tomorrow morning, if you want me to wait for you…I'm not asking for anything in return," he continued, as he took in the hesitant look on Mary's face. "I know that after…after everything that's happened…you are not thinking about any of that now; all I can hope for is that at some point, when you are far away from all of this, you might come to me with an open heart…"

Mary stood in silence for a long while, considering what Bash was offering her; what he was asking from her in return, one day. Finally, she nodded, accepting Bash's offer. What other choice did she have, apart from heading to London on her own?

"We'll leave during the early hours of the morning, before we are missed," said Mary, formulating a plan in her head, even as it broke her heart to say it out loud. "I will ensure that I am seen at the wedding celebrations tonight, and then I will meet you at three am, in the village, so that nobody can see us leaving the castle together. If I do not meet you within half an hour of the arranged meeting time, you should go on without me…I will have to find my own way to London…"

Mary's voice almost caught as she said the last part of that sentence. Was she really doing this? Was this really happening? Yesterday, she had kissed Francis on the train, and it had felt like it was just the two of them against the world, and now…and now…

"I'll be there," said Bash, his tone of voice soft, reassuring as he continued to hold Mary's hands in his. He could probably see the pain and anguish written all over her face.

Mary nodded. "But for now, I must get through the grand finale of the Scottish royal family's big show before I can leave…"

Bash nodded, but then his eyes seemed to settle on something above Mary's head.

Mary turned and glanced over her shoulder, looking in the direction of the castle, where she spotted Kenna, who was looking out on the gardens from a couple of floors above, already wearing her white wedding veil.

Kenna must have excused herself from the rooms where her team of staff was helping her to get ready, Mary realised. Perhaps she had been overcome with nerves, or it had got too much, having everyone surrounding her and acting like this was the happiest day of her life, and she had got out for a few minutes to try to get some air.

And she had walked out of the confines of her dressing room only to look down on the gardens in time to see Mary and Bash standing close to one another, their hands still joined.

So many unspoken words seemed to pass between the three of them as they all looked at one another.

Mary wasn't sure how, but somehow, she could tell from the expression on Kenna's face that she had worked out exactly what Mary and Bash were planning to do. Perhaps she had been hearing gossip throughout the day that things were not good between Mary and Francis; maybe she had even heard about Mary and Bash's kiss, and now this 'meeting' with Bash had confirmed what Kenna already suspected.

Kenna's face was a conflict of emotions for a few moments, and each emotion seemed to be warring against the other.

For a moment, Mary caught a glimpse of the old Kenna, the spoiled teenage girl who was planning on telling the guards exactly what Mary and Bash were planning on doing out of jealousy and revenge.

But then, a look of sadness crossed Kenna's face, and this look was quickly replaced by a look of resignation.

She caught Mary's eye and gave her the subtlest of nods.

Mary nodded back at her as a silent understanding passed between the two of them.

Kenna was going to let them do this; she was not going to send the guards after them; she was not going to order Mary back to Scotland as soon as she became queen. She was giving them a clear path so that they could run away. She was going to let go of Bash.

Mary saw Kenna put her hand to her mouth, as though she was trying to stifle a sob. She shared another quick look with Mary, and one last longing look at Bash, before she turned on her heel and walked back in the direction that she had come from.

"Kenna will look beautiful at the altar tonight…" Bash muttered, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

Mary had the strange feeling that she was not the only one who had lost something today.

Mary felt the unbearable wave of guilt wash over her again. If she left for London tomorrow morning, she would not be able to keep her promise that she had made to Kenna yesterday; she could not stay by her side and support her as she attempted to navigate her arranged marriage to James while ruling a country. Mary would also be taking Bash away from the castle; away from Kenna. Kenna would no longer even have the possibility of sneaking glances at Bash from the castle windows. It seemed that the only thing Mary was good at was breaking her promises and letting people down.

Mary shook her head, determined not to get dragged down again by her despair. Not yet. There would be plenty of time for tears, on the road to London.

The sound of the bagpipes started to ring out from all around the castle, reminding Mary that the proceedings for the wedding ceremony were already underway; James and Kenna would be married in a matter of hours...

"I have to go and get ready for the ceremony," Mary told Bash, her voice still sounding a little shaky. "Everybody will be wondering where I am; my mother will probably be angry…"

"Do what you have to do," said Bash, his voice gentle. "And, when it's all over, I'll be waiting for you, in the village, where we first met…"

Mary let go of his hands and started to walk away from him, back in the direction of the castle. Again, her legs felt heavy. She wasn't even sure how she was going to find the strength to get back to the television room, let alone get through the wedding ceremony.

The bagpipes continued to play. Mary was sure that the were playing a traditional Scottish song of celebration. Yet, as she walked back through the castle doors, Mary couldn't help feeling as though she were about to attend a funeral.

* * *

The hair and makeup team were beside themselves by the time Mary finally dragged herself over the threshold of the television room.

They ran towards her, their faces a mixture of shock, anger, worry and disappointment, all of them talking over one another, demanding to know where Mary had been, and talking about how worried they had been, and talking about how the guards had been trying to find her, and crying out in horror about her wet hair, and despairing about how little time they had left to help Mary to get ready.

And yet Mary barely heard a word they said. All of their voices sounded muffled, and she allowed herself to be led towards a chair, where the team could begin to attempt to fix her hair and apply her makeup for the evening celebrations.

The only face that could just about make out among a mass of hair and makeup artists was the face of her Publicist. He had been looking out of the room's window when Mary had first walked into the room, but he'd turned to face her the moment the team of staff acknowledged her arrival.

He frowned and then raised an eyebrow at her, asking her a silent question as a look of what could pass as genuine concern crossed his face.

He had not spoken any words, but he hadn't had to; Mary knew what he was asking.

With a sigh, she shook her head.

Mary's head felt heavy. Something about this small gesture of acknowledgment had made all of it seem so real; so final. It was as though her fate had been sealed.

_"I'm sorry…"_ Narcisse mouthed to her. He actually looked like he meant it.

* * *

The hairdressers styled Mary's hair into perfect curls, congratulating themselves on having 'rescued' her hair from the mess that she had allowed it to get into outside in the rain, but Mary found that she didn't care.

The makeup artists applied Mary's eye makeup perfectly, before they selected a bright shade of red lipstick that perfectly matched the shade of red of her dress, but all Mary could feel was sadness. Francis's lips had been on hers not so long ago, and now Mary felt as though the kiss was somehow being erased as each layer of lipstick was applied.

Mary's limbs felt heavy as the stylists helped her to change into her bridesmaid's dress. She had to admit that the dress looked beautiful, especially as her newly styled hair and her makeup complemented it so perfectly, but Mary was still struggling to muster any sort of enthusiasm. Already, she wasn't sure how she was going to get through the next few hours. It would take all of her energy, to simply put on a brave face.

Finally, Mary was allowed a few moments to herself. She felt herself sinking down onto the nearest couch, just opposite the chessboard.

Slowly, Narcisse walked over to her and pulled up a chair to sit down opposite her.

"I will go with you," he announced, his voice soft, low, like he was trying to keep the conversation as private as possible.

These strange words startled Mary out of her thoughts.

"What do you mean?" she asked him.

"Wherever you and that boy from the stables are planning to go…I will go with you, offer you as much assistance as I can in your escape…"

Mary looked back at him with wide eyes, unable to hide her surprise. How had Narcisse worked out what she was planning to do? Had he been watching her and Bash through the window and put two and two together? Or had he always known that this was how things would end up? Was this an inevitable conclusion that Mary had failed to see, even though Narcisse had?

Mary debated denying all knowledge of what Narcisse was suggesting, but she decided against it. If the past few weeks had taught her anything, it was that Narcisse was not to be under-estimated. "Narcisse," she said instead, "I can't ask you do to that. You would be giving up too much-I can't guarantee that I will have anything to offer you, once I have left Scotland and the protection of the royal family. Your career prospects would be so much better here, in the castle-I have no doubt that Kenna would wish to employ you as her Publicist, as soon as she is queen-"

"Do you really think I could stand to be here?" Narcisse asked her with a frown. "Do you really think I could sit back and watch while Lola agreed to-"

He didn't finish his sentence, but he didn't have to. Mary already knew what he was trying to say; she already understood the reason why he did not want to stay here.

Narcisse could not stand to watch Lola agree to a marriage with Francis. He would rather risk a life on the road, a life on the run, a new, uncertain life in another place than stay here with money and security, if there was any possibility that he would have to witness Lola marry another man here.

Narcisse had known that this was a very real threat, a very real possibility-Mary realised that now. It was the reason why Narcisse had put so much effort into trying to save Mary from criticism about meeting Conde; he had been terrified that any rift between Mary and Francis could potentially push Lola into Francis's arms.

Something about this motivation of Narcisse's reassured Mary, in a strange way; this was a part of him that she could believe; some part of him that she could trust.

"I'm leaving regardless of whether or not you agree to let me go with you," said Narcisse, using the tone of voice that had always made Mary feel like he was the one who was truly in charge of proceedings. "It's your choice as to whether you want me to accompany you, or whether I do this alone. I can however be a very useful ally to those who are not necessarily travelling by honest means…" he added with a shrug that almost looked casual.

Finally, Mary nodded in agreement. It would be wiser, to have Narcisse as a friend in London, rather than a rival. He would also no doubt know a lot of useful contacts who would be of use to Mary and Bash on the road. "I'm meeting Bash in the village at three in the morning," she told him in barely more than a whisper. "Nobody is to find out about our plans."

Narcisse nodded, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I'll be there. Let's just get through this joke of a wedding tonight, and then the show will finally be over."

Somehow, Mary knew that she could trust him with all this; he wanted to get away just as much as she did; he was a man who did not want anyone to follow him; he would probably know ways to travel to London without being too visible along the way.

And when the three of them crossed the border into England, it would be much more difficult for Scotland to put out an order to recall Mary back to the castle. Especially if Mary had the protection of the English Prime Minister and his inner circle of politicians…

Narcisse went to stand up.

"Narcisse?" Mary asked him, before he could walk away.

Narcisse paused, looking at her with a confused frown.

"Can you have a message sent to Louis Conde on my behalf?" Mary asked him as she reached yet another painful decision. "Tell him that I will meet with him in London next week to discuss…to discuss his proposal…"

A look of what could only be described as pity crossed Narcisse's face for a moment, before the cold mask of indifference returned. "Consider it done," he said with a polite nod, as though the two of them had simply agreed to a business deal. Perhaps that was all it was. With that, Narcisse walked away. It seemed that in the private battle that had been going on between Francis and Narcisse, Francis had finally won; Narcisse had conceded defeat. Maybe Francis cared more about that than he did the matchmaking show.

The declaration of Mary's intentions about her future in London felt like the final nail in the coffin. Her life here was over. It was all over.

Mary shook her head in disbelief. This was what she had always wanted, wasn't it? This was the life that she had dreamed of, before the matchmaking show got started and she'd been dreading taking part. Finally, she had found her escape from the show, the cameras, the confines of life in the Scottish castle, the restrictions that went with being a member of the royal family.

Now, she had the opportunity to go an adventure with Bash; she had always thought that he was handsome, and now there was a very real possibility that the two of them might end up together. And, as an added bonus, she had the chance to forge a new life for herself in London, one of her favourite cities. She could accept her dream job, live close to Greer, work alongside a man who would have been just the type of man she would have picked out for herself, before the show got started. She might even end up with him instead, and then they could live together in the house that looked just like Mary's doll's house, and they could go on holidays together to Paris.

She was free.

She had won, hadn't she?

So why did this victory feel so hollow? Why did she feel so empty?

_Be very careful what you wish for..._ Kenna had told her. Now, those words were coming back to haunt her.

* * *

When Mary was finally dressed for the ceremony, she stood in front of the full-length mirror, taking in her reflection. She looked at her bright red bridesmaid's dress with its lace sleeves, and the several expensive pieces of golden jewellery that were hanging from her neck and her ears, and her hair that had been styled to perfection in elegant curls, and her makeup that perfectly complemented her dress. Narcisse had even asked for a golden hairpiece to be pinned into her hair, to accentuate her look. Perhaps, for a few hours, Mary could pretend that the golden hair piece was a crown.

Mary blinked in surprise a few times when she suddenly spotted her mother's reflection in the mirror. She had not heard the queen enter the room. She tensed, expecting her mother to start shouting at her about the pictures with Conde, or her argument with Francis, or the fact that Mary had arrived late to the television room to start getting ready, but she did not mention any of it.

Her mother seemed to inspect Mary's outfit carefully for a few moments, and Mary fully expected some sort of criticism, or a call for some sort of adjustment, but her mother said nothing of the sort.

"You look beautiful," her mother told her, her expression sincere.

Mary was so taken aback that she was temporarily lost for words.

Mary turned her head to the side a little, so that she could look directly at her mother. She could no longer stand to look at reflections in mirrors.

Her mother was dressed in a long, flowing royal blue dress, complete with expensive jewellery and diamond hair pins. She looked every inch the queen. For the first time, Mary was struck by how similar they looked.

A strange sort of silence seemed to pass between them.

"Mother, I'm sorry." The words had left Mary's lips before she could stop them.

Her mother frowned, looking surprised by this statement. "What are you sorry for?" she asked her daughter.

"For not being the daughter or the princess that you always wished I could be," said Mary, trying to fight off a tear. This apology was a difficult one to make, as Mary had always been so stubborn, so determined that she was always in the right while everybody else was wrong, but if felt imperative now, for Mary to get this apology out into the open, before it was too late.

"Nonsense," her mother told her with a dismissive wave of her hand, her reaction taking Mary by surprise. "Do you really think that _I_ was always the perfect queen in waiting? Do you really think that I never made mistakes? I spent my teenage years sneaking into parties that I wasn't supposed to be at," her mother added, when Mary continued to look at her with a frown on her face. "I practically tore down the walls of the castle when my mother tried to arrange my marriage to your father," she added, with an almost fond look on her face now. "Your only 'fault' is that you are too similar to your mother, while my faults run a lot deeper…"

Mary watched her for what felt like a long time, not really knowing how to process these words. Finally, something clicked into place…

"D-did you know?" Mary asked her, a strange sort of clarity starting to form, a nagging suspicion that Mary could not let go of. "A-about the night in the castle in France?" Mary flinched as she mentioned that night. These words were practically a confession, but now that she had started to wonder, she couldn't _not_ know. "Did you know that I was there?"

"I suspected," her mother confirmed, looking right into Mary's eyes, a pained look on her face. "Something about your behaviour afterwards, and your brother's, told me what I needed to know. But I was too cowardly to broach the subject with you, and for that, I can only ask you to forgive me. A part of me hoped that you might come to me to talk about it, but when that didn't happen, I tried in my own way to help you to heal; but, it seems my methods have been nothing but a hindrance to you…"

Mary wanted to say something in reply, but before they could discuss the matter any further, Mary's mother was called away by her own team of staff. It seemed that her presence in the chapel was now required.

"I'm proud of you, Mary," her mother told her as she started to walk away. "When you stood up to give your speeches in Edinburgh and London, you truly looked like a queen. You've always known your own mind. I'm going to say what I should have said so much sooner…I will support you, whatever you decide; whoever you choose to be; wherever you might choose to go…" she added, with a pointed glance.

It was a look that told Mary that she knew more than she was letting on.

Her mother knew, or at least suspected, that Mary was going to run tonight, in the same way that she had known deep down that Mary had snuck into the French castle that night. She was not going to stop Mary from leaving, if that was what Mary wanted. What a time for Mary's mother to start to allow her to make her own decisions!

With that, the queen was gone.

After her mother had left, Mary stared back at her reflection, blinking away tears. Perhaps it was for the best that she was leaving. Since that night in the French castle, she seemed to have brought nothing but bad luck to her family's doorstep; it almost felt like everything she touched turned to poison. Perhaps working with Conde would be the only good thing she was capable of doing in order to help her family.

* * *

In the minutes before she was due to be escorted downstairs, Mary felt herself sinking down into a chair near the chessboard and the television screen. An episode of the matchmaking show was playing on the television, the show's producers apparently unaware that the whole process would be over soon.

A few feet away from her, a few members of the Publicity team were playing a game of chess, passing the time before Mary had to head downstairs to the chapel for the ceremony, all of them oblivious to the fact that Mary's whole world had shifted in less than twenty-four hours.

Almost without thinking about it, Mary found her phone in the pocket of her now discarded skirt. She carried out an Internet search and pulled up a series of photos of her and Francis that had been taken throughout the matchmaking show.

There was the photograph of the two of them in the gardens, on the first official day of the matchmaking show, when Mary had tripped over as they filmed together and Francis had reached out to catch her before she could fall.

There was a photograph of the two of them smiling at one another as they stood on the steps outside the castle, waiting to greet Lady Kenna.

There was a photograph of the two of them standing with their arms around one another at the front of the castle drawing room, with Aloysius beaming at them.

There were photographs of the two of them in Paris, walking around the Louvre and standing on the viewing deck of the Eiffel Tower.

And of course, there were more recent photographs of the two of them in Edinburgh and in London, giving speeches and walking up Arthur's seat and standing outside 10 Downing Street.

Mary had saved her own personal photographs, too-the selfies she had taken with Francis by the Arc de Triomphe and at Buckingham Palace, the two of smiling at the camera, looking happy, relaxed.

The photos all seemed to tell the story of a couple who had slowly started to fall in love; a future king and queen who had been preparing for a life together as royals.

Mary could no longer stand to look at the photos. Every photo seemed to taunt her, reminding her of what she had almost had; a future that might have been possible, but now it was no longer within her grasp. It was only now, after all of it was gone, that Mary was finally starting to realise just how much she had lost; just how much she had given away.

She locked her phone and watched as the staff members manoeuvred the black and white chess pieces around the board. One side was about to get the other into checkmate. The players could not yet see it, but Mary could.

"I have lost everything," Mary said to herself.

* * *

Two guards arrived to escort Mary to the chapel.

Narcisse nodded at Mary as she left the room, as though silently telling her that she just had to get through the next few hours, and then they could be on their way-Mary, Bash and Narcisse.

Mary nodded back at him, letting him know that she understood.

Then, with her head held high, she walked out of the room. Bizarrely, she felt like a queen from times past who was about to walk to her own execution, but was still determined to put on a brave face all the same.

* * *

The guards kept close as Mary headed down flights of stairs and through various corridors towards the castle's chapel, which was located near the back of the building. Mary knew that the royal family had tightened security in the run up to the wedding, and the second-born princess was clearly no exception to the heightened security measures.

The sound of the Scottish bagpipes might still have been ringing out happily from outside the castle, but the presence of the stony-faced guards only served to make Mary feel like a prisoner.

She was almost relieved to catch sight of Greer and her husband close to the corridor leading to the chapel as she rounded a corner, that was until she saw the look of sorrow on Greer's face, and she heard the harsh tone of Aloysius's voice; it sounded like the two of them were in the middle of some sort of argument.

Mary hung back a little, ignoring the guards' look of obvious irritation at the delay as she tried to hide herself around the corner and listen to what they were saying…

"Now is not the time or the place, Greer," she heard Aloysius tell his wife, the impatient tone of his voice suggesting that they had had this argument many times over.

"Then when will it be the right time or place?" Mary heard Greer snap back at him. "You won't communicate with me; we have barely even talked for the past week…"

Mary frowned a little in confusion. She had never heard Greer and Aloysius argue like this. They had always seemed like the perfect couple; so happy and so carefree all the time.

But then, who truly knew what went on behind closed doors, in any marriage?

"If any of those accounts are traced back to you…" Greer continued.

Aloysius opened his mouth as though to say something in response, a look of panic crossing his face, but then he looked over in Mary's direction, apparently only just realising that she was standing a few feet away.

"Mary!" he called out, the smile suddenly returning to his face, although Mary couldn't help noticing that his smile looked a little forced.

Mary made a great effort to make her movements look natural as she stepped out from around the corner, in the hope that it wouldn't seem as though she had been listening in on what seemed like a very personal conversation.

"Mary, you look beautiful!" Greer told her, although her smile seemed a little forced, too.

Mary attempted to smile in return, but something must have shown in her facial expression, because Greer suddenly frowned and muttered, "Walk with me," to Mary, while Aloysius seemed to take the hint that Greer wanted to talk to her friend in private. He mumbled something about heading to the chapel and conducting a few interviews with the guests before the ceremony started, and then he left them alone.

"Mary, what is it?" Greer asked her in barely more than a whisper, as they walked down the corridor with their arms linked, the guards only a few feet behind them. Greer had apparently picked up on something in Mary's facial expression.

Mary let out a sigh of despair before she spoke: "It's all over, Greer," she whispered, her voice still shaky. "Francis does not want to marry me."

"Oh Mary," said Greer, as she looked right at her friend, a look of sorrow on her face that Mary was sure was a mirror image of her own. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think," Greer attempted to reassure her. "Francis is just upset about the photos of you with Louis Conde..." So Greer knew about the photos. Soon, the whole country would know. "You know what men are like," Greer continued, "with their jealousy and their insecurities," she added with a roll of her eyes. "As annoying as this behaviour can be, it won't be permanent; this moment will pass; Francis will come around, and you will be able to talk things through…"

Mary wanted to believe her best friend, she really did, but she could not be so optimistic. Something about the look on Francis's face after he had kissed her earlier had been so resigned, so final, that Mary wasn't sure he would ever forgive her.

"I don't think things are that simple, Greer," said Mary, her voice now sending empty, monotone, hollow. "So much history has passed between us; there have always been so many obstacles in our way, and alternative arrangements for both of our futures have already been put in motion. I'm not sure that we can come back from this…"

Greer opened her mouth as though to disagree, or to tell Mary to go and talk things through with Francis, but Mary cut her off. False hope was so much worse than no hope, after all. "Still, I have to try to look on the positive side," she said in a voice that sounded very falsely upbeat. "It seems that you and I will be able to live in the same city after all; I am considering opportunities in London," Mary explained.

Instead of greeting this comment with joy, or enthusiasm, a shadow almost seemed to pass over Greer's face, and then her facial expression seemed to show a mixture of hesitation, guilt, and anguish.

Something about the look on Greer's face sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over Mary. Greer's move to London with Aloysius was still happening, wasn't it? For Mary, the prospect of getting to live close to Greer was one small glimmer of light at the end of a very dark tunnel. If somebody took that glimmer of light away from her now…It would be such a cruel turn of fate, if Greer did not end up in London after all. It would be yet another torment, if Mary was forced to run to London while Greer ended up staying in Scotland.

"Mary," said Greer hesitantly, her voice full of trepidation. "Things are not so simple or so certain for me right now, either. Aloysius and I…"

Before Greer could continue, the two friends rounded another corner, to be met by another one of the guards, who coughed pointedly, which Mary took as a hint that the guards had allowed Greer to walk far enough with Mary. Now, Greer had to go and take her seat among the other wedding guests in the chapel, while Mary had to take the next part of this journey alone.

With one last worried-looking glance at Mary from over her shoulder, Greer headed into the chapel through its main doors, leaving Mary to wonder what she had been about to say.

* * *

Mary was ushered into a makeshift dressing room that was located directly opposite the chapel's main doors, just across the corridor.

Kenna was already waiting inside the dressing room. She had been standing with her back to Mary, looking up at a large portrait of a king that was displayed on the wall, but she turned around to face Mary the moment Mary walked through the door.

Kenna looked beautiful and elegant, Mary thought, dressed in an old-fashioned cream-coloured wedding dress with long, lace sleeves that Mary was sure had once belonged to Mary and James's grandmother, complete with a net veil that sat just below her eyes.

Already, Kenna looked like a member of the royal family; she looked like a woman who would soon be crowned queen.

Mary started to drop into a bow, out of respect for Kenna's soon-to-be role as queen, and out of acknowledgement of Kenna's new rank among the royal family, but Mary had barely inclined her head when Kenna practically ran at her, throwing her arms around Mary and pulling her in for a hug.

Mary put her arms around Kenna in return, and the two of them held each other tight. It seemed that any animosity over Mary's plans to leave the castle with Bash had now been forgotten in light of the significant event that the two of them were about to face.

"Kenna, it's all right; it's going to be all right," Mary whispered in her ear. "I'll be there; I'll be right behind you the whole way down the aisle; we will get through this together…"

Mary could not afford for Kenna to break down now. The wedding ceremony was only moments away, and the two of them had to be strong; they both had to think of their countries.

Mary felt Kenna nod against her shoulder. With that, she straightened up and took a step back from Mary. Mary could see from Kenna's facial expression that Kenna was steeling herself, mentally preparing herself to face what was ahead.

At that moment, two guards opened the dressing room doors, letting them both know that it was time.

"Let's go," Kenna said to Mary as she squared her shoulders and held her head high.

Just before she stepped out of the door, Kenna looked back over her shoulder at Mary. "I really am sorry," she said, "about Francis."

"So am I," said Mary.

* * *

Kenna and Mary crossed the hallway as the guards opened the large wooden doors that led to the chapel.

The castle's chapel had always been beautiful, with its dark wooden floors and beams, and walls painted in red, and a large chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. The room was well-lit by large, arch shaped windows at intervals along the side walls, and a few candles flickered at the front of the room. The flags of England and Scotland had been displayed on the walls. The room had also been decorated with a variety of red, white and blue flowers, marking the colours of the two countries, and no doubt serving as a visual reminder to the guests of the purpose of this wedding and the alliance it would hopefully bring about. Yet right now, Mary could not appreciate the room's beauty. Instead, she simply tried to stay focused and keep walking.

The wooden chairs and benches in the room had been separated into two sections, so that an aisle had been created in the middle of the room for Kenna to walk down.

A red carpet had been laid out on the long section of floor that marked the aisle, and Kenna took slow steps along this carpet as she headed in the direction of the altar while the wedding march played, with her father walking next to her, ready to give her away.

A couple of years ago, Kenna probably would have been thrilled at the idea of walking down a red carpet like a celebrity, but Mary imagined that today, she barely even noticed.

Dutifully, Mary followed in Kenna's footsteps, taking slow steps down the aisle.

Mary glanced around at a few of the wedding guests as she walked. Most of the guests were from noble and political families, and they were all dressed in designer dresses and suits and fancy hats. The tabloid magazines would have plenty of inspiration for articles on the wedding, what with all the well-known guests and the designer gowns. Mary could only hope that they would fill enough pages to distract everyone from the photos of Lola and Francis that were sure to emerge soon.

Mary caught sight of Lola, who was sitting on the second to last row near the back of the room. She was leaning back in her chair, as though she was struggling to hold herself upright, and she kept closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. She seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Mary almost felt sorry for her.

Greer was sitting next to Aloysius on one of the middle rows of chairs. Greer seemed to throw concerned-looking glances at her husband every few seconds, but the look on Aloysius's face was distant; it was like his mind was somewhere far away.

Mary felt a little worried by this; normally, on a day like today, Aloysius would have been grinning from ear to ear, practically bouncing on his feet in anticipation of a royal match and a long night of celebrations.

Mary's father caught Mary's eye as she got closer to the front of the room. He smiled at her, silently mouthing something to her about how lovely she looked.

Mary did her best to smile back at him, but she felt another wave of guilt wash over her. After she left the castle tonight, she didn't know when she would see her parents face-to-face again. It could be weeks, or maybe even months. Maybe they would not want to see her at all, after they found out that she had accepted a role working for the English Prime Minister. They would forgive her for considering Conde as a suitor, as they had suggested this idea in the first place, but would they forgive her for her loyalty to a rival country over Scotland? Would Mary ever forgive herself?

They were getting closer to the altar now; Mary could see it a little more clearly.

A priest stood at the top of the two steps that led up to a podium on the altar, ready to perform the ceremony.

Two large, red curtains hung from the chapel's ceiling, on either side of the altar's stone steps, so long that the ends of them brushed against the floor. Normally, when the room wasn't in use, the curtains were drawn across the altar, obscuring it from view, but this evening, the curtains were wide open.

James was waiting for Kenna at the altar. He was dressed in dark trousers and a bright red frockcoat that had been decorated with various royal badges; it was something of an official uniform for princes who were about to be wed.

His face seemed to be set, determined. He still would not look Mary in the eye.

Finally, they arrived at their destination, and James and Kenna were standing face to face.

James nodded at Kenna, and a silent exchange seemed to pass between the two of them. Mary imagined that they had discussed this moment over and over, preparing themselves for what was to come.

Kenna nodded in return, and James reached out and took Kenna's hands in his.

A few sighs from the guests echoed around the room, and Mary guessed that they believed this to be a gesture of a man who was seeking physical contact with his bride, the two of them unable to be apart for a moment longer, but Mary saw it for exactly what it was. This was a gesture of comfort, of reassurance. In spite of his own misgivings, James was going to help Kenna to endure this as best he could. The two of them were going to cling to each other for support as they got through the ceremony.

The gesture and the reactions of the guests seemed to be too much for Kenna. She bowed her head and closed her eyes as she started to sob silently.

Kenna's tears drew more sighs from the guests as a few of them even placed their hands over their hearts.

Mary felt sick. Most of the wedding guests clearly thought that Kenna was crying with happiness.

James closed his eyes in return, and he seemed to be taking deep breaths.

Mary could not bear to watch anymore. Instead, she turned and looked out on all the guests in the room; her eyes were seeking one guest in particular. She had not been brave enough to look for him as she walked down the aisle; she had been too afraid that she would fall over or lose any strength to keep walking if she saw him. Now, as much as it pained her to look, she had to see if he was here; she had to know that he was okay.

Francis Valois sat in the right-hand corner of the room, on the very back row, next to his parents. All three of them looked miserable, as though they would rather be anywhere else.

Francis was dressed smartly in a dark suit, but his hair still looked a little messy, and he looked tired-no, more than that, he looked exhausted, and his eyes looked strangely red-rimmed as he looked out the nearest window.

This defeated look of Francis's surprised Mary more than anything. She wished that she could reach out to him, tell him that she was sorry, tell him that everything was going to be all right. But she couldn't do that. Not now.

She wished that she had been more honest with Francis from the start about her feelings and her bad memories of the past; she wished that he had opened up to her more in return. Perhaps then they could have salvaged the alliance…no, more important than that, perhaps they could have saved their relationship.

Mary was also a little surprised by the seating arrangement; she would have thought that her parents would have placed the Valois family front and centre of the room, showcasing the French royals to all the other guests, sending a message that relations between Scotland and France were strong. But it seemed that the Valois family had other ideas. Perhaps they had already decided that they would not be seeking any sort of alliance with Scotland. Mary had ruined that opportunity for her family.

Francis must have sensed that Mary was watching him, because he turned away from the window and looked right at her.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of them looked into each other's eyes. So much history and so many memories seemed to pass between them in that look.

Mary wished that she could turn back time, erase the past, do things differently. But that was impossible. She could not change the past, and now she was facing a future without Francis.

Finally, Francis couldn't seem to stand to look at Mary any longer. He turned away and looked back out of the window, and Mary felt like her heart was breaking.

Mary followed Francis's gaze. Outside, the sun was setting in a cloudy sky.

Suddenly, the room felt far too warm; Mary felt like she was burning up.

For a moment, she was certain that she could smell a strong smell of smoke, but she told herself that she was only imagining things, or perhaps it was merely the smoky smell coming from one of the candles that had just flickered out.

As the air around her seemed to thicken, and her breathing started to get heavier, Mary frantically tried to pull herself back from what she assumed to be some kind of anxiety attack; she recognised the signs, as she had felt this breathless, too-hot-and-too-cold sensation before during scary moments of her life; moments when she felt like she was trapped with no escape.

She couldn't break down, not here, not now; Kenna and James were just about to make their vows; she had to be strong for Kenna, for James, for her family. She had to show her support for this marriage alliance before she ran. She did not want the Valois family to see her crumble.

_Breathe…breathe…_ Mary silently told herself, even as her breathing started to get heavier.

She could do this; everything was under control…

But then, the sound of a terrified scream pierced the air.

Mary looked up in time to see Lola, who was still screaming as she pointed in the direction of the altar.

"Fire!" another guest screamed.

Mary gasped and looked over her shoulder. The red curtains on either side of the altar were enveloped in flames, and the flames were rising up higher and higher; the fire was spreading.

Almost paralysed by fear and confusion, Mary looked back at the guests in time to see that several of the flower displays around the room had also caught fire, and all of the colours of England and Scotland that the flowers represented were now burning, crumbling to ashes.

The room was starting to descend into chaos. The screams and shouts were almost deafening.

James and Kenna had sprang apart, the wedding ceremony momentarily forgotten, and Mary could see from the look on James's face that he was getting ready to take charge, to spring into action, to get everybody out of the room as soon as possible.

Mary felt like she was spinning in circles, going nowhere.

What was happening? Was this some sort of freak accident? Had a few stray flames from the candles in the chapel caused the curtains and the flowers to catch fire?

But then, Mary glanced upwards and saw that the flag of England that was displayed on the wall was also going up in flames, while the Scottish flag remained suspiciously intact.

Mary span around a little more and realised that there were no guards in the room, about to come to their rescue. Where were they? There were supposed to be guards stationed all around the room, ready to protect them.

And then, on the back wall of the room, Mary saw it…

The bird in flight symbol appeared in flames on the wall, as though it had been marked out with flammable liquid and set alight.

As the room descended into further panic and confusion, the words that Mary had heard earlier seemed to reappear in her mind…

_The plan is in motion…_

_It will happen at sunset…_

_You will burn…_

All this time, Mary had thought that she had only been imagining things; the whispers and the footsteps and the constant feeling that somebody was following her and watching her family's every move.

But now, as the bird in flight continued to burn right in front of Mary's eyes and Francis started to run towards her, holding out his hand, Mary realised, perhaps too late, that she had not imagined any of it; all of it had been so heartbreakingly _real_.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to fighting, violence and a terrifying event for the characters. This is another dark chapter in Mary's story, but its events finally lead her towards a few realisations about herself, and those around her. There will be light at the end of the tunnel soon.

The flames continued to climb higher, rapidly spreading from the curtains to the ceiling.

People continued to scream and shout in their state of panic.

The bird-in-flight symbol continued to burn bright at the back of the room.

And Francis continued to run towards Mary, but now his path was impeded by the crowds of people who were all running in the opposite direction, trying to get out of the room. As the smoke got thicker, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Mary to see him.

Mary knew that she had to take action, that she had to do whatever she could to get herself and others out of this room if they were to have any chance of getting to safety. She wanted to run to Francis, to run to her family, but still she remained frozen to the spot for several seconds, just like she had done last time, in the middle of the last disaster. Her fear was threatening to win out over her bravery, forcing her into inaction; an inaction that could prove to be deadly.

At the very least, other people in the room were moving around now, starting to take action to ensure their escape.

Mary noticed that Catherine had managed to wrench open the two wooden doors at the back of the chapel, allowing for an escape, while Lola and Greer, in a show of strength that even Mary couldn't have predicted, managed to prize open a side door in the middle of the room that had been locked a few minutes ago, providing yet another exit, before they bravely ran across the smoke-filled room to open a similar looking door on the opposite side of the room.

James had been shouting instructions at the guests as to which exits they should head over to, while at the same standing in front of Kenna, still protecting her, even as their wedding ceremony was lost in the flames. As a few more guests headed out through the main doors, James ran over to a small side door next to the altar and wrenched it open, which would allow one more small exit, if another escape route became necessary.

Catherine and Henry seemed to be trying to get to Francis now, their faces the picture of fear for their son. Mary knew that the moment they got to him, they would do whatever they could to get him out of the room and to safety, whether Mary was with him or not.

Francis was not only their eldest son, but he was also the heir to the French throne, a future king; to them, his life was too precious to be taken away as a result of a rebel attack in Scotland; the future of France rested on them getting Francis Valois to safety.

Rapidly, guests were leaving the room, exiting through the open doors on all sides. Only a few people remained now.

Suddenly, Mary's family was standing in front of her.

"Mary, let's go!" Mary heard her father yell at her, even as the smoke got thicker around them.

Mary could also see her mother, beckoning Mary towards her so they could all get out through the doors that the guests had escaped from.

It was the first time that Mary had seen true fear on her parents' faces. She knew that they had refused to leave the room until they were certain that their children would leave with them.

But still Mary could not take those steps forward just yet. She took a step back, trying to get a better view of the room. Where was Francis? Had he got out? The smoke at the back of the room was so thick, and Mary could barely see a few feet in front of her.

Vaguely, she was aware of the sight of James, pushing Kenna towards his parents.

"Protect her! Make sure she gets out!" Mary heard her brother asking, no, begging his parents.

Mary suspected that the moment they got out of the room, if something more deadly was discovered out there, then James was going to run off and play the hero, trying to rescue as many people from the disaster as he could, even if he could not save himself. Even though he was not romantically in love with Kenna, he still wanted her to be okay; he was depending on his family to protect her as if she were their own, should he be separated from them at any point.

It turned out that taking a step back proved to be an unwise, almost fatal move for Mary. Above all of their heads, the room's chandelier had already caught fire. In a matter of seconds, it had detached from the ceiling, and then it began to fall.

Mary's parents and James and Kenna only just managed to jump out of the way in time before the chandelier crashed to the floor.

Mary let out a scream at the sound of the chandelier's glass shattering. She was really panicking now; she was back in the French castle on that awful night; she was back in the dark place that she had been in at the age of sixteen.

In a matter of seconds, a line of flames had emerged on either side of the chandelier, blocking Mary's path. It seemed that the floor had also been doused with whatever flammable liquid had been used on the bird-in-flight symbol at the back of the room.

She could hear her mother's screams from the other side of the flames. She was separated from her family now, and the line of flames had cut her off from the chapel's main exits.

"Mary!" she heard her father and Kenna call out to her, their voices sounding desperate.

"Mary!" she then heard her brother's voice call out to her, his tone insistent, commanding; "get out of the room through the side door to your right! Go! Now! You can still get out of the castle that way!"

It seemed like so long since James had spoken to her that the shock of it snapped Mary into action.

"I will go!" she called out to her family, before she had to pause to cough. "But you must all go, too!" she continued. "Get out of the castle! Save yourselves!"

The flames were so thick now that Mary could no longer see her family. She could only hope that they had followed her command.

The main doors would have provided a quicker route to the castle's main entrance and out of the castle, but that escape route was no longer an option to Mary. With the flames continuing to spread, and with no clear idea as to whether her family or Francis would be able to get to safety, she was left with no other option but to run in the direction of the tiny side door to her right; the door that her brother had opened only minutes ago.

Before she left the chapel, Mary allowed herself one more glance over her shoulder. Although visibility was poor through the thick cloud of smoke, she noticed that the room was empty now; everybody seemed to have got out of the chapel; nobody appeared to have been hurt by the fire.

Although she felt relieved, some deep part of Mary felt unsettled; something about the rapid evacuation had been a little too…easy, a little too simple. It was clear now that the fire in the chapel had been planned by rebels-the bird-in-flight symbol was a dead giveaway-and yet everybody had managed to get out...Did that mean that there was something else, waiting just beyond the chapel doors? Something even more sinister?

But still, Mary ran through the tiny side door next to the altar and emerged in the adjacent corridor, willing herself to keep moving forward, even if she was only heading into more danger. What other choice did she have?

* * *

As Mary ran down the deserted corridor just outside the chapel door, the sense of blind panic really started to set in.

Only meters behind her, one of the castle's great rooms was on fire, and unless the fire was put out soon, the flames were going to spread.

Mary was all on her own, at the mercy at whatever else was waiting for her in the castle's long hallways. Already, she imagined that she could hear whispers and footsteps in the corridors ahead.

The lights had started to flicker, with the power starting to trip in and out, probably due to the interference from the fire and the smoke nearby, and Mary was terrified of the castle descending into darkness.

She had no idea where her family or her friends were; she didn't know for sure if they had got out of the castle.

And then there was Francis…

Where was he?

If anything happened to him…

"Guards!" Mary heard herself scream as she continued to run.

This was who the royals called out for, when things went wrong, when there was any kind of disturbance.

Normally, they came running at the slightest cry from anyone in the castle.

Where were they now? As much as Mary had complained about the guards' heavy-handedness over the years, right now, she would give anything for them all to come running, with their weapons at the ready to defend the castle; she would give anything for them to help deal with the awful, confusing things that had just happened and help get everybody to safety.

"Guards!" she shouted again as the corridor behind her started to fill up with smoke.

She needed them; she needed somebody to come to the rescue…But nobody came.

* * *

Still running, Mary rounded yet another corner, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and the chapel while at the same time trying to stay on some sort of path that she knew would help lead her out of the castle, even if she had to take the long way round.

Her bridesmaid's dress was restricting her, the long skirt and the heavy fabric making it more difficult to run. Mary knew that she might soon be forced to tear the skirt to shreds, if it would help her to run faster. What did pretty dresses and jewels matter…what did any of it matter, when it was life or death?

Mary turned to her left, heading down a long corridor that she knew led towards the back of the castle. High above her, a window stood half open, its glass panes broken as though somebody had forced entry.

There were shards of glass all over the floor by Mary's feet. A strip of white fabric was hanging from the window's latch; it seemed that somebody's shirt had caught on it while they were trying to get out, or into, the castle, and a strip of fabric had been torn off as a result.

Mary paused for a long moment and glanced up at the window. She was not sure which part of the grounds it would lead to, but this window would provide some sort of exit from the building, if she wanted to try to take it. It was clear that somebody else had managed to get through the window frame, so it was possible that she could, too. A few slabs of stone stuck out on the wall-they would provide some sort of ladder, if Mary had strength enough to climb.

Mary put one foot on the stone wall, discreetly testing its sturdiness.

It was tempting, but Mary hesitated at the last second. What would happen, if she managed to get outside, only to see that her family wasn't out there? What if Francis wasn't out there? The wait in the gardens for her loved ones to emerge would be unbearable. And what if they didn't emerge? If there was any possibility that they were still trapped in the castle, in danger, then Mary had to do her best to find them.

Besides, if she couldn't make it to the top, if she fell and hit the stone floor and the shards of glass, then she would be putting herself at an even greater risk. She was on her own, with nobody to assist her, inside a castle that was at great risk of burning to the ground, and she could not afford an injury; she could not afford anything that would impede her eventual escape.

And so, with one last glance at the window, Mary kept running.

* * *

Mary had no sooner headed into another corridor when she heard voices a few feet ahead of her, coming from just around the corner.

With her heart starting to beat fast, Mary came to a stop and flattened herself against the wall, so she could peer around the corner to see who the voices belonged to.

A couple of guards appeared in Mary's line of vision, fully dressed in their official uniforms. So there _were_ some guards still in the castle, after all. Where had they been? Why hadn't they been in the chapel during the wedding ceremony? What were they doing now, hanging around the corridors at the back of the castle? Did they not know that the chapel had been set alight, right in the middle of James and Kenna's wedding?

Mary was just about to call out to them, to explain what had happened, to beg for help, when suddenly, she recognised one of the guards as the man who had appeared at the television room door just before Mary's disastrous interview, holding a bird-in-flight pin in his hands and insisting that Narcisse had asked Mary to wear it.

Her surprise at seeing him again after he had seemed to vanish for weeks rendered Mary momentarily speechless.

In those few seconds of silence, she saw the same guard reach out and drag Henry, Francis's father, into view from around the corner on the opposite end of the corridor.

Before Mary could shout out, express surprise at what she was seeing, the guard took a knife out his back pocket, and, in one swift motion, the king of France fell down to the floor.

Mary let out a terrified gasp; she almost screamed in horror, but she managed to put her hand to her mouth and silence herself at the last second.

More guards arrived on the scene. Several of them had their sleeves rolled up, as though they were preparing to dispose of a body. From a distance, Mary could just make out the tattoos on their arms; they all had bird-in-flight tattoos…

Mary had to fight off another scream of fright as her mind started to connect the dots.

Rapidly, Mary darted back around the corner, desperately trying to hide herself from the guards' view.

The other guards were laughing now, as though they had just witnessed a wonderful piece of entertainment.

Mary would have felt disgusted, if she had been able to feel anything other than blind panic. She knew that she had to move, to keep running, but she felt frozen with fear.

"Is he dead?" she heard a guard ask in a gruff voice.

"Yeah," another guard confirmed, causing Mary to feel a shock wave that brought on both panic and despair.

The king of France was dead. He had been murdered.

For all of her own personal dislike of the king of France, he was still Francis's father. What would Francis think, when he found out?

"Good riddance," another guard spat, as a few other guards murmured in agreement.

Mary covered her mouth with her hand, covering another silent scream. She had almost called out to those guards; she had almost revealed to them that she was there, just around the corner, in the same way that she had called out to the guards as she ran out of the chapel. If she _had_ called for them, then no doubt she would have been lying next to the king now, dead. Those few seconds of hesitation had spared her life.

"Let's go and get the rest of them," said another guard. "They're all around here somewhere, running in panic from the fire; they should be easy to find; they won't even see us coming…"

These words sent a fresh wave of fear over Mary, finally causing her to act.

She had to get out of here. These men were rebels, and they had just killed someone; they had just killed a member of the royal family. They were planning on killing again. If Mary stayed here, then she would be a sitting target. It was clear now, that she had so much more to fear than the fire.

Slowly, carefully, Mary pushed herself away from the wall.

She took a few steps backwards, backing away from the wall as silently as possible, terrified that even the sound of her heavy breathing would give her away.

She crept to the end of the corridor, fighting an urge to simply run and risk being overheard, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the guards first.

With each step, another sense of dread set in. If the guards had managed to capture a member of the French royal family, then where were the other members of the Valois family? Were they somewhere close by? Would they be the next targets? _Where was Francis_?

In that moment, it struck Mary that she was not sure if she could survive this, if Francis didn't. This feeling was almost enough to overwhelm her. She was not sure that she had felt anything this intense before. What a time to discover it!

When Mary finally reached the end of the corridor, she ran. More than ever, she understood that she was running for her life.

* * *

Mary ran and ran, her heart pounding, her muscles screaming in protest.

Smoke was starting to seep into a few of the surrounding corridors, making it more difficult to breathe; the fire was spreading.

She was sure she could hear voices, and cruel-sounding laughter, getting ever closer.

With each gasping breath, all of the pieces started to fit together, like shards of glass as sharp as knives that would cut anybody who tried to put them back together, drawing blood in the process.

The castle was under attack by rebels. The fire in the chapel had been planned; it had been a premeditated attack designed to sabotage James and Kenna's wedding and cause panic and chaos in the process. More than that, the burning room had been a trap; a trap designed to lead everybody into the castle's maze of corridors, where the wedding guests would be an easier target for the rebels in their panicked and confused state. Mary had thought that it had been a little too easy for everyone to escape from that chapel; her instincts must have been correct. Perhaps her instincts had been correct all along.

It was all starting to make a twisted kind of sense. The enemy had been within, the whole time. The guards in the castle had been in on it all, secretly sporting rebel tattoos on their skin as they went through the motions, pretending that they were here to protect the royal family, when really, they had secretly been plotting against them.

Mary remembered that so many new members of staff had been recruited to work at the castle, just before the matchmaking show got started. How had so many false allies slipped through the net? How had the royal family been so easily deceived?

And then there had been all those whispers, and footsteps…and, of course, the way that the media seemed to know their every move; the way that those photos of Mary and Conde had mysteriously appeared on Mary's desk. The enemy had been so close, the whole time.

As Mary rounded yet another corner, still alone in this part of the castle, she allowed the feeling of regret to consume her. How could they all have been so naïve? How could _she_ have been so naïve? She had seen those tattoos on the people in the village; she had heard the anti-royal murmurings in the local pub. She had never even considered that the anti-royal sentiments expressed at the pub ran _this_ deep. How the rebels must have laughed at them, knowing that they were able to plot against the crown from so close to the castle!

All the signs had been there-the masked stranger who had cornered Mary in the alley, warning her that she was being watched; the guard who had shown up at the dressing room door and told Mary to wear the rebel pin and then mysteriously vanished; all the information that seemed to get out to the press at convenient times-information that only somebody who was within the castle walls was likely to know. All the signs had been there, and Mary just hadn't put two and two together.

She had never for a second believed that the guards would be disloyal to her family; but now, it seemed she had misplaced her trust.

With another gasp, she thought about how she and Bash had managed to climb over the castle wall to sneak out to the village the day after the matchmaking show got started. It had been difficult to get over the wall, but certainly not impossible. And, if they could get _out_ , then it must have been possible for rebels to get _in_ that way. Mary had been meaning to mention the wall to her mother, but with everything else going on in her life, it had slipped her mind.

And, deep down, it had not really occurred to her that anyone would have got away with entering the castle's gardens by scaling the wall; she had always believed that the guards would have been waiting to meet any intruders in the gardens. But what happened when the intruders were the guards themselves?

Then Mary felt another fresh wave of regret as she pieced something else together-two guards had accompanied her to her meeting with Conde in London, along with Narcisse. At the time, Mary had doubted Narcisse's ability to keep quiet about the event, but it had never even crossed her mind that the two guards sitting opposite him had sold Mary out. All the guards had seemed so disinterested that night too, barely even noticing that Mary had been sneaking past them in the hotel corridor on her way out, as though they couldn't have cared less about protecting her. Yet another sign that Mary had missed.

* * *

The smell of smoke seemed to be getting stronger now.

Mary's limbs felt like they were getting heavier.

A part of her felt like all of this was hopeless; if the flames didn't get her, then the rebel guards surely would. Surely it was only a matter of time before she hit a dead end, before all the dark forces of the castle finally caught up with her.

But still she couldn't give up; she had to keep going. A queen would have fought a battle to the bitter end, even if there had been no chance of victory.

And, a greater part of Mary knew that she could not give up until she had found Francis again, even if she only got to see him one last time before the rebels caught her.

* * *

Mary was right at the back of the castle now.

She noticed that the door to a small room at the end of a corridor was hanging open. Mary knew that this room was one of several meeting rooms in the castle; she had attended several meetings in there.

She also knew that there was a back door in this meeting room that would lead out into the gardens, if it wasn't locked and she could get it open.

Still unsure what she should do, still unsure if she was ready to take a chance on heading outside on a vague hope that her family and Francis would already be out there, Mary crept towards the open door.

She peered around the doorframe in time to see that three people were already in the room, standing with their backs to her.

They were engaged in a hushed conversation, saying something about the guards and the castle's exits.

Mary recognised their voices-these people were not guards, but they were employed by the castle as members of staff. Mary knew that the woman in the middle of the small group worked for the administration team, and the man standing next to her was one of the castle's gardeners, while the woman standing on the right usually organised conferences and meetings within the castle.

Yet, one quick glance at the small, sharp knives that they all held in their hands was enough to tell Mary that they were not on the side of the royal family. She could even make out a tiny bird-in-flight tattoo, displayed on the forearm of the woman in the middle of the group.

Silently, Mary crept away from the doorway and back out into the corridor, before she broke out into another run, trying to get as far away from the meeting room as possible and thanking her lucky stars along the way that the three members of staff had happened to have their backs to the door at the moment Mary had stumbled upon them.

* * *

As Mary was forced to run back in the direction that she had just come from, with her heart beating so fast that it was becoming increasingly difficult to catch her breath, the realisation started to hit her that it was not only the guards who had betrayed them. Other members of staff were in on this attack, too. Anyone could be carrying a knife up their sleeve, ready to stab her in the back…

Mary's thoughts were abruptly cut off when she ran headlong into somebody who must have been running in her direction from the opposite end of the corridor.

The impact of the collision caused Mary to lose her footing; she fell backwards onto the floor, struggling to catch her breath as she forced herself into a seated position, trying to ignore a sharp jolt of pain in her side.

The corridor had started to fill with smoke, making it difficult to see clearly. She could just make out the outline of the person standing above her…

She let out a gasp of fright as she realised that the person she had just run into was male, well-built, and taller than her. What chance would she have, if she had just run right into a rebel guard?

As fast as she could, Mary leapt to her feet, desperate to defend herself in any way that she could, even if her efforts would prove to be futile. She could barely even catch her breath; she wasn't sure if this was because she had been injured by her fall, or because the smoke was getting thicker.

Finally, the smoke seemed to clear a little, and that was when Mary finally saw him clearly…

Sebastian was standing opposite her, taking deep breaths. His white shirt had been torn, so that his chest was partially visible. On his chest, Mary could see the tattoo, drawn in black ink; it was a tattoo of a bird-in-flight…

Frozen in fear, and shock, Mary looked up at Bash's face. What emotion was that intense expression of his trying to convey? Was it shame? Anger? Fear? Triumph? Mary couldn't yet tell.

Bash looked Mary right in the eye.

Neither of them said anything.

The two of them continued to stare at one another, both of them taking deep breaths, with so many unspoken words passing between them.

So Bash had been one of them all along. He had been in league with the rebels. The tattoo on his chest seemed to say it all. No wonder he had been so eager to flee from the castle when Mary had told him of her own plans to leave!

He must have been the one who had climbed through the window earlier-the strip of fabric hanging from the window frame exactly matched the shade of white of his shirt. But why had he climbed through the window of a burning building? Was he here to help everyone to escape in a moment of redemption, or was he here to help the rebels?

Mary half-expected Bash to leap forward, to try to attack her, but still he did not move.

In the heavy silence that passed between them, Mary thought about how Bash had met at the local pub with people who were not sympathetic to the crown. She thought about how he had instantly known the meaning of the symbol that Mary had accidently worn for her interview. She thought about how she had been certain that she'd noticed the top of a tattoo on Bash's chest only yesterday evening, before she'd convinced herself that she'd only been seeing things.

Perhaps, somewhere deep down, Mary had known all along that this was who Bash was. Perhaps she had simply entered into a deep state of denial, because she had not wanted to believe it.

In the distance, Mary was aware of the sound of voices. It sounded like they were gradually getting closer.

But still she could not move. Her head felt like it was spinning with this new revelation. The walls of the castle seemed to be closing in on her. She did not know what to do, what to say. She did not know which direction she should run in to best protect herself.

The sound of footsteps from just around the corner seemed to snap Bash back to his senses. He looked over his shoulder, a frantic expression on his face.

Then, he looked back at Mary.

Mary tensed, wondering if he was about to give her up to the rebels…

"There's nobody here!" Bash suddenly called out, his tone of voice and his accent a perfect imitation of the guards that Mary had heard in the corridor earlier. The guards who had killed the king.

"Mary, go!" Bash told her, his voice an urgent whisper.

Mary didn't need to be told twice. She turned away from Bash and ran, back in the direction that she had just come from.

She did not look back over her shoulder at him. She knew exactly who he was now. He might have just saved her life, but she had no guarantee that his loyalty to her would win out for a second time.

* * *

Mary kept to the outer corridors of the castle, as it seemed that the smoke was not as thick here as it was further into the castle.

Perhaps the smoke was not too heavy at the moment, but a fresh wave of guilt was threatening to consume Mary instead.

She had known all along that Bash had secrets. Catherine had even confirmed this to her during one of their confrontations. She had been suspicious enough of him that she had asked Kenna to follow him. She had briefly considered confiding in her parents about his knowledge of the rebel symbol. Why had she not said anything? Why had she not listened to her gut instinct? Why had she always been so determined to deny the evidence that was in front of her?

Her silence had protected him, Mary understood that now, even if that understanding felt more painful than the lingering pain in her side. If Sebastian really was working with the rebels, if he had accepted the job in the stables to get close enough to plot against the crown, if he hurt anybody in the castle tonight, then some of the burden and the responsibility for his actions would lie on Mary's shoulders. Already, the burden felt like it was too much to bear.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to Mary, one that she was surprised she had not already thought about; Francis Valois was now the king of France. His father's murder had converted a prince into a king in a matter of seconds, as quick as drawing breath.

This would mean that Francis would be an even greater target to the rebels now; if they had been so determined to kill one king, then they would not hesitate to kill another; they would not want to let any king walk free tonight.

Mary had to find Francis; she had to see him; she had to tell him that she…

Out of nowhere, a dark shape appeared in front of Mary. In one swift movement, she was slammed against the stone wall. The surprise attack and the strength of her attacker left her unable to fight back.

She let out a scream-whether it was a scream of pain or fear she wasn't exactly sure, and then she felt a hand around her neck.

Already, Mary's breathing had been affected by the smoke in the corridors, and the added weight of a hand around her neck caused her vision to go out of focus.

She could just make out a figure wearing a guard's uniform standing only inches away from her, their face covered, a bird-in-flight tattoo visible on the hand that was wrapped around her neck.

So this was it. She had been caught. She had managed to evade capture several times since she had escaped from the chapel, but her efforts had been futile, in the end. She had only been buying herself a little more time before the inevitable happened.

"The next queen of Scotland," she heard a male voice tell her in a deadly whisper. The tone of voice was mocking, scathing, sarcastic. It seemed that the rebel was going to taunt her before he destroyed her completely. "That's what some of them are saying, in secret corners of the country. They're all fools!" the rebel practically spat at her, his grip tightening on her throat. "All of them taken in by makeup and pretty dresses and scripted speeches and a fake romance played out in front of the cameras. You're just as useless as the rest of them…"

Mary's heart sank as she took in the rebel's words. Perhaps what he was saying was true; maybe her role in the royal family really was as pointless as she'd always thought it was. She could only feel more guilt at the idea that people out there in Scotland seemed to have placed some kind of mistaken faith in her. She had let them down, the way she always let everybody down, in the end…

"Francis, I'm sorry," Mary made sure to say out loud. That was all that she could do now; choke out words of apology into thin air, to somebody who would never hear them. She took some comfort in the thought that Francis's name would be one of the last words she said.

Mary could see the silver glint of the knife the rebel was holding. The blade was getting ever closer. This was how it was going to end. There was no escape now; there had _never_ been an escape.

Mary couldn't bear to look; she closed her ears, bracing herself for the moment that the blade pierced her skin…

"Hey!" she heard a voice call out; a voice that definitely didn't belong to the rebel.

She felt the rebel's grip loosen around her throat.

"Get away from my sister!" the voice continued, sounding just as deadly as the rebel's.

Mary opened her eyes in time to see her brother grabbing hold of the rebel and moving him forcibly away from Mary, almost slamming him into the opposite wall. Then came a sickening crunch as James's fist made contact with the man's face.

James's face displayed an anger that Mary had never seen in him before.

In spite of everything that had happened before the wedding ceremony, Mary had never been more glad to see him.

The rebel tried to fight back, swinging his fists and aiming his knife in James's direction, but James's surprise attack had caught him off guard. James managed to aim several more punches to his face before he could even make a move to retaliate.

As Mary remained up against the wall, frozen in shock, she saw James continue to fight.

Somehow, the rebel managed to remove himself from James's grip. He staggered away from James and Mary, moving at a surprising speed considering that he was clearly injured, managing to disappear around a corner before James could grab hold of him again.

Mary's saw her brother's gaze follow the rebel, the expression on his face still furious. He seemed to be debating going after him, but then his eyes moved back to Mary, and he seemed to make a silent decision that it was more important to stay close to her, to protect her from any further attacks.

With a sigh, he let the rebel run away.

"James," Mary managed to splutter out, in between her gasps for breath.

James took a step towards her, and next moment brother and sister were hugging, with James holding Mary tight.

It was as though their recent argument had never happened; it was as though months of tension and disagreements had melted away. At a time like this, when it was a matter of life or death, it all no longer seemed important. Mary was just a young girl, seeking her big brother's comfort and protection.

"I was looking for you, all over the castle," James muttered as he continued to hold her tight. "I was so scared that…" He couldn't seem to bring himself to finish his sentence.

Mary allowed a few sobs to escape her as her shaking hands gripped tight to her brother's shirt.

She was still in a state of shock, but the realisation that she had been only moments away from death was now rapidly starting to hit her. If James had not arrived just in the nick of time, she would surely be dead now.

Only the thought that she did not yet know the fate of Francis, or most of her family and friends, and the reminder they were still inside a burning building that was crawling with rebels, finally pushed Mary to step out of her brother's protective embrace.

If they were lucky, there would be time to talk about everything later.

"I have to go back and find Kenna," James told her almost immediately. "We were separated not far from the chapel, and I can only assume she's still around there, if she hasn't…if she hasn't managed to get out already; I haven't found her in any other part of the castle. Mary, I have to make sure she's okay…" His face was the picture of duty again. In spite of the circumstances of their arranged marriage, James still cared about Kenna's wellbeing; it was clearly weighing on his conscience that he didn't know whether she was all right.

"I'll go with you," Mary told him, making her decision.

"Mary, no," James told her, as a new look of fear seemed to cross his face. "It's too dangerous; there's a door that leads out to the gardens in the next corridor; you should get out now. I'll go and find Kenna, then we'll get out, too…"

"James, I have to go with you," Mary insisted. She might have only just escaped death, but a voice deep within her was telling her that she could not run away and leave her brother to face this alone. She couldn't run away when Kenna might still need her help. And, if Francis was still inside the castle somewhere, then she could not head out to the gardens only to not find him out there; she had to try to find him, while she still had the chance. "James, please; I haven't found Francis yet, either…"

Finally, although he looked as though the decision went against his better judgement, James nodded in agreement.

Together, they ran in the direction of the centre of the castle.

* * *

"The others?" Mary asked James, trying to keep her voice level as she ran through the corridors with her brother, the two of them heading further into the castle, rather than trying to escape from it. She felt sick with dread at what James might tell her.

"I'm not sure where everybody is," James finally replied, as a look of fear crossed his face. "We were attacked by rebels seconds after we left the chapel. The attack took us by surprise, and they managed to separate most of us. It ended up turning into a fight between rebels and guests in the corridors near the entrance hall. I tried to fight the rebels off, to protect the guests, but I couldn't protect all of them," James admitted, as a look of mingled guilt and despair crossed his face.

So several of the wedding guests were already dead. How many more had become victims, in the time it had taken for James to find Mary?

"And our parents?" Mary asked as they rounded another corner.

"Last I saw they were close to one of the castle's exit doors," said James. "I begged them to get out, to save themselves…I promised I would follow them, when I found you and Kenna…I can only hope they did as I asked…"

Mary was provided with some small fragment of relief at the possibility that her parents might be safely out of the castle by now.

"A-and Francis?" she asked, trying to keep the tone of desperation out of her voice.

"I don't know," James admitted to Mary's intense disappointment, looking disappointed in himself for not having something more substantial to say. "I last saw his family just outside the chapel; Francis seemed determined to get back inside the chapel, but they were pleading with him to get out. I lost track of them after the rebels started attacking…"

"Francis's father is dead," Mary told her brother as he paused for a moment to look at her on hearing this news. "I…I saw the rebels kill him…"

A look of foreboding seemed to cross James's face as he took in the look on his sister's face. Mary wondered if he could see her desperation. He seemed to understand the exact reason why Mary was so terrified; if the rebels could so easily kill the king of France, then there was a high possibility that Francis was at risk of meeting the same fate.

* * *

The air was getting thicker, heavier now. Mary knew that they were close to the centre of the castle.

Minutes ago, they had been far away from here; running around the outskirts of the castle, where the flames had not quite reached, but instead of running even further away from the danger when they had the chance, they had run back into it.

Mary was just wondering if she was crazy to be taking a risk like this when two rebels suddenly appeared at the other end of the corridor that she and James had just been about to run through.

They were dressed in guard's uniforms, with the rolled-up sleeves revealing their tattoos, and their faces were covered by what appeared to be balaclavas.

Mary barely had a moment to gasp in fright when James sprang into action, reaching for what looked like a long, metal rod that appeared to have been stashed behind one of the suits of armour in the corridor and wielding it like a sword as he fought the two rebels single-handedly.

It seemed that James had been well-informed about the hidden items in the castle that could be used for self-defence.

Perhaps the smoke had already weakened the rebels, because it didn't take long before the two of them were doubled over on the ground, reeling from the injuries that James had just inflicted on them.

"Let's go," James told Mary, looking like he was deliberately trying not to look at the rebels on the ground.

James started to walk away, and Mary followed him. As she stepped over the rebels, Mary noticed that one of them had dropped a knife on the floor. Quickly, Mary knelt down, picked up the knife and hid it up one of the sleeves of her red dress.

* * *

As Mary and James turned into the next corridor, Mary thought about what an act of cowardice it was, for the rebels to fight with knives that they concealed within their clothing. Knives were not as visible; they could easily take an opponent by surprise. Knives were not as traceable; they were easier to hide after the damage had been done. The use of large, loud weapons would make it more obvious to the authorities that a deliberate attack had taken place.

The wider details of the attack were starting to make more sense to Mary now; she could see what the rebels had planned; they were hoping to pass all of this off as a tragic accident; they were hoping that by the time the police arrived, the castle would have burnt to the ground and all the deaths would be recorded as accidental. They would say that a fire had inexplicably broken out in the chapel and then quickly spread, killing everyone it its path. By the time anyone started to question this version of events, the rebels and their knives would already be far away, leaving little evidence behind. Mary would not let that happen; she would make sure that the truth was known; she would tell the people of Scotland that all of this had been planned for months. She owed them her honesty, at least. She just had to live long enough to tell the tale.

* * *

A few moments later, Mary and James came to abrupt halt when they suddenly caught sight of Greer a little further down one of the corridors. Greer was not alone; two members of staff who were working for the rebels had turned on her and were trying to get the better of her.

Greer was holding her own, defending herself with a large block of wood that seemed to have fallen from the wall or the ceiling, but Mary could tell that it wouldn't be long before the rebels overpowered her, especially as Greer was outnumbered.

James and Mary ran towards her, with Mary gripping her newly acquired knife tightly in her hand.

The rebels were so focused on Greer that they didn't see them approach. James managed to grab hold of one of them and throw them into the nearest wall, while Mary reached her hand up to block the second rebel's fist from connecting with Greer's face before James returned to grab hold of him.

Mary and James fought side-by-side, with Mary relying on what she could remember of the combat training she had received as part of her royal duties from an early age. As a child, the training had always seemed like such a boring chore, but now, she could only wished that she'd worked much harder at her training; she understood now that she would have to learn to defend herself more effectively-James would not always be there to save the day.

For a moment, Greer looked shocked at the sight of Mary and James, but it wasn't long before she recovered herself, and then she joined James in his attempt to bring one of the rebels to the ground.

Soon both rebels were falling to the floor, seemingly unable to fight back anymore, but not before one of them managed to take a swipe at James's arm with their knife, tearing the sleeve of James's red shirt. James gritted his teeth, like he was trying to stop himself from crying out in pain.

Without doing much to tend to his injury, and without turning back to survey the damage he had inflicted on the rebels, James urged Mary and Greer to keep going.

* * *

There was no time for long conversations, but Greer held Mary's hand as the two of them followed James.

Mary squeezed her hand in return. Somehow, she felt a little better, with Greer by her side.

"Mary, I'm so sorry," she heard Greer whisper to her, although she had no idea what Greer was apologising for.

The three of them were suddenly brought to a halt by the sound of screaming. The screams seemed to echo all the way up and down the nearest corridor.

It didn't take long for Mary to realise who the screams belonged to.

"Kenna," said James in barely more than a whisper, confirming Mary's suspicions.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Mary, James and Greer followed the sound of the screams.

The noise led them to a corridor that wasn't too far away from the chapel.

They stopped at the end of the corridor, and James's eyes fell upon a wooden door about halfway down the corridor.

Loud cries could be heard from the other side of the door, along with what sounded like somebody banging on the door repeatedly.

Mary had an idea what had happened; the room only looked like a storage room from the outside, but Mary knew that a secret passage that led out of the castle was also located at the back of that room. Kenna would have known that too. No doubt Kenna had found herself separated from everyone, and in a state of panic, she'd headed into this room to make a quick and discreet escape. But someone must have watched her, must have followed her, because it looked like she'd been locked in. No doubt the secret passage had also been blocked from the inside, too, preventing any possibility of escape. Perhaps the rebels had planned to return and 'deal' with her later, after they'd dealt with the rest of the Scottish royal family.

Mary, James and Greer started to take rapid steps down the corridor, all of them desperate to help their friend. Still they had to be cautious and move slower than they would like, in case this was also some kind of trap.

They had only got about halfway down the corridor however when two of the large portraits on the wall crashed to the floor in front of them, along with several suits of armour, temporarily blocking their path.

Mary wasn't sure if the items in this corridor had been rigged by the rebels to fall like that, or whether the fighting that must have already occurred in this corridor had caused the pictures and the suits of armour to dislodge, but there was no time to think about that now.

Frantically, James, Mary and Greer worked on removing the damaged portraits and suits of armour from their path.

Mary noticed that one of the paintings was an old, priceless portrait of a Scottish king. How many other priceless artefacts had also been destroyed since the fire had broken out? Not that any of that mattered to Mary right now. She would trade all of it, to keep Francis alive.

Before they could clear enough space to get through the pile of broken objects and get closer to Kenna, Mary spotted Bash at the other end of the corridor.

Mary's heart started to beat faster in fear. Bash was closer to where Kenna was than Mary, Greer and James were, and Kenna was still shouting as her fists pounded against the locked door; Bash would know instantly where she was.

As though confirming Mary's fears, Bash quickly came to a halt, looking like he was listening intently to the sounds in the corridor, and then his face seemed to register some kind of recognition as he heard Kenna's screams.

Instantly, he started to run towards the locked door, calling out Kenna's name, arriving at the door while Mary, James and Greer were still trying to move fallen objects out of the way.

"Kenna, it's all right!" Mary heard Bash tell Kenna. For his part, he genuinely did sound like he was worried about her. "I'll get you out! Stand back from the door!"

Mary had originally made plans to use one of her hair clips to try to unlock the door-a trick that James had taught her during her childhood-but Bash still seemed to be relying on strength for now. After kicking the door a few times, he resorted to slamming his body into it. When the door still didn't budge, he picked up a few heavy items and used them to try to force the door in.

Without thinking about it, Mary reached for the knife that she'd hidden up her sleeve and gripped it tight. Bash might have saved her before, but she could not guarantee that Bash would do the same for Kenna. Kenna had been about to marry the future king of Scotland after all, and the bird-in-flight tattoo on Bash's chest all but confirmed that he was on the side of the rebels. What would he do, if he managed to get Kenna out of the room, and the two of them were face to face? Would he betray her, moments after winning her trust?

Finally, James managed to clear a space in the middle of the pile of rubble that was wide enough for the trio to get through.

Wordlessly, Mary started to walk through the cleared path, motioning for James and Greer to follow her.

The three of them moved down the corridor, towards Bash and Kenna.

Bash was now trying to force the lock open by hand. Mary doubted whether he would be successful, but somehow, he finally managed to break the door handle off entirely before he gave the door one final kick, which caused it to burst open. Perhaps his time with the rebels had taught him a few things, Mary thought bitterly.

"Bash!" Kenna called out as she ran out of the room, her tone of voice a mixture of surprise and relief. Then, apparently oblivious to the fact that Mary, James and Greer were only standing a few feet away from her, she ran right into Bash's arms.

Mary tensed, waiting for Bash to suddenly turn on Kenna, but the moment never came. Instead, Bash held her tight, offering her comfort after her ordeal.

"It's all right," Bash muttered to Kenna, his tone of voice soothing, "you're going to be all right."

Bash had made an attempt to cover his tattoo with the fabric of his shirt in the time since Mary had crashed into him in the corridor, but Mary doubted that Kenna would have noticed it, even if the tattoo had been on full display. She looked up at Bash with a look of awe on her face.

For now, Bash was Kenna's hero; he was the man who had saved her from a terrible fate; he was her knight-to-the-rescue who she had always longed for.

As the two of them looked into each other's eyes, Mary almost felt like some kind of _moment_ was passing between the two of them.

Mary also felt a tug of sadness and guilt as she wondered what would happen when the illusion finally shattered and Kenna found out who Bash really was.

Still holding Kenna, Bash looked up and his eyes fell on Mary.

An awkward, tense sort of moment seemed to pass between them as the two of them held each other's gaze. Mary could tell that Bash was waiting for Mary to announce his secret to the others; he was expecting all of them to turn on him.

Mary felt conflicted; a part of her felt like she should do just that, but Bash had just saved Kenna, in the way that he had saved her from being captured by the rebels. Mary had no idea what his motivation had been for doing those things, but surely they counted for something? Besides, the castle was still burning, and it was still full of rebels, and time was not on their side. They couldn't afford for a fight to break out between James and Bash in the corridor; they had to get out.

"We'll take care of Kenna now," Mary announced to Bash, her tone of voice firm. She hoped he understood her bargaining for what it was; if he handed Kenna over to them unharmed and fled, then she would not set the others on him in this corridor.

James looked a little confused by the exchange between Mary and Bash, but he stayed silent, apparently trusting his sister to handle this.

Bash nodded, accepting her terms. "Kenna," he muttered, "I have to go and find a few of my colleagues. You'll be safe with Mary; go with her…"

Kenna looked reluctant to let go of Bash; she held onto his shirt for a little longer before she finally let go.

"I'll see you outside," Bash told Kenna as she started to take slow, tentative steps towards Mary. Mary wasn't sure if Bash would see Kenna again, but she knew that he would say anything right now to ensure that Kenna got out safely.

Kenna nodded, then she stepped into Mary and Greer's waiting arms.

"I tried to g-get out," Kenna sobbed into Greer's shoulder, "but they'd already b-blocked the passageway, and they locked me in the room…"

Bash shared one more quick look with Mary before he ran away.

Mary and Greer tried their best to whisper words of comfort to Kenna, but the three girls were only allowed seconds to share an embrace before James reminded them that they had to keep going.

"The entrance hall isn't far from here," said James. "If we can make it there, we can try to get out through the main doors…"

Mary nodded in agreement, and then the four of them started to run in the direction of the entrance hall, where they all hoped they would find an exit.

As Mary's feet pounded against the floor and she gasped a few times for breath, her chest felt even tighter as she thought about how she still didn't know where Francis or her parents were.

But she had not found them in this part of the castle, and she couldn't abandon the others now. Her hope now rested on getting outside, where she would be able to check whether they were out there.

* * *

The scenes in the entrance hall were chaotic.

Groups of people with bird-in-flight tattoos were fighting against others without tattoos who were also dressed in guards' uniforms.

Shouts and angry cries could be heard all around the room as people used knives and fists and whatever other objects they could get hold of as weapons.

Mary, James, Greer and Kenna were only able to hide around the corner of the corridor that led into the entrance hall just in time before they were spotted.

Every now and again, they chanced a quick glance around the corner at the entrance hall.

As Mary frantically scanned the room, she worked something out; not all of the guards had turned on them. There were those who were still on their side, and now that they had finally been alerted to the danger going on inside the castle, they had come into to the castle to fight the rebels. This thought served to reassure Mary a little.

The rebels had thought that they had been clever in using knives as their weapon of choice, but the lack of more sophisticated weapons meant that they were easier to overpower; the loyal guards seemed to be gaining the upper hand.

From their hiding place, they continued to watch the scenes of combat play out, their faces showing matched expressions of worry and resignation. They were so close to a viable exit now, but there was no way that they would be able to get through the entrance hall and out of the main doors unscathed. There might have been guards fighting on their side all over the large room, but those guards would not be able to protect them all. The moment they stepped into the entrance hall, they would be instantly visible, and they would be obvious targets for the enemies all around them.

Suddenly, Mary was struck by an idea; Kenna's rescue from a room with a secret passage had got her thinking about it.

"There's another passageway out of the castle, a couple of corridors back," Mary whispered to James, Kenna and Greer. She couldn't help noticing that James was holding a shaking hand over the part of his arm that a rebel had injured with a knife. He had put on a brave face up to now, but he was clearly in pain. He needed to get out and seek medical attention, and fast. "If the rebels haven't already found the passageway and sealed it up, we could use it to get out…"

Mary could see that Kenna and Greer had their doubts as to whether the passageway remained undiscovered by the rebels, especially after Kenna had discovered for herself that one of the other passageways had been blocked, but what choice did they all have? It was either that or take a chance against the rebels and their knives in the entrance hall.

Finally, the others nodded in agreement with Mary's plan, and they all crept back down the corridors.

* * *

They made it to the corridor where the secret passageway was located.

James was just pulling back the tapestry behind which the passageway was concealed when Mary heard a female voice calling out her name.

She jumped and looked up in time to see her mother staggering towards her from the opposite end of the corridor.

"Mother!" Mary called out frantically before she started to run towards her.

James wasn't far behind her.

Mary's mother held out her arms as her daughter and son got closer, and the three family members practically fell into each other as they embraced. Mary's mother hardly every shared affection like this with her children, but right now, it seemed that their roles and royal protocol did not matter.

"I've been looking for you both everywhere!" Mary's mother gasped into James's chest, still somehow managing to sound like a stern parent who was scolding her wayward children. "When I couldn't find you outside in the gardens, I ran back into the castle to find you; I wasn't going to leave you behind…"

Mary shook her head as she tried not to sob. She wasn't sure whether to be angry or relieved. Her mother had already been ill for a while, and she was clearly weakened and exhausted by the rebel attack, but it seemed that she had refused to abandon the castle until she had found her children, even though James had instructed her to get out. For all of Mary's issues with her mother over the years, right now, she saw her not as a queen but as a concerned mother who'd thought she'd lost her children.

"The passageway's clear!" Greer informed them all in a loud whisper, bringing everybody back to reality. It seemed that Greer had gone inside the passageway to inspect it while James and Mary had been running towards their mother.

James started to steer his mother in the direction of the passageway.

"Where's Father?" Mary instantly asked her mother, unable to hide the panic from her voice. If he was still in the castle somewhere, then Mary could not leave him.

"He's already outside," her mother replied. Something about the expression on her mother's face told Mary that there was something else that her mother _wasn't_ telling her, but there was no time to push for more answers now. "You should all go," the queen continued, sounding like every word she spoke was costing her a great effort. "You will get out faster without me; I'll only slow you down…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Mary cut her off, her tone firm. "We're all going together."

James and Mary had to support their mother as she staggered towards the tapestry. Mary suspected that she was only minutes away from passing out. Now that she had found Mary and James, what remained of her strength seemed to be leaving her.

James also winced in pain with every step he took. The added weight of his mother's arm around his shoulders must have been aggravating his injury.

Greer also seemed to notice James's predicament, because the moment Mary and James approached the tapestry, Greer reached out for the queen, indicating that she would take James's place in supporting his mother.

At first James tried to refuse, but Greer insisted, and so he moved out of the way so that Greer could stand in his place.

James glanced quickly at Greer as they all stepped into the passageway. Mary could tell that her bravery this evening had impressed her brother.

They descended a wooden staircase, with Mary and Greer struggling to hold Mary's mother up. Then they took slow, tentative steps along a dark corridor.

Mary could fear the fear emanating from everyone in the group. It was as though they expected the passageway to cave in at any moment, or for rebels to jump out and attack them in the dark. But in spite of their fears, they kept moving forward.

Mary could see that Kenna was still shaken up from her ordeal of being locked in a room. She tried her best to throw a few reassuring glances over her shoulder at Kenna as she continued to support her mother.

Every step that Mary took felt heavy. A part of her wanted to run back, to continue her search for Francis, but she couldn't abandon her mother now.

If Francis was not outside, then Mary did not know what she would do.

At last, they reached a flight of old, stone steps.

They all managed to stagger up the stairs, and, to Mary's immense relief, after James had given the door at the top of the stairs a few good, hard shoves, it opened with a loud creaking sound.

* * *

They emerged into the castle's front garden, not too far from the main driveway that led up to the main doors.

They all practically toppled over one another as they moved as far away from the burning building as they could.

As they staggered onto the grass close to the driveway, they had only seconds to take several grateful gasps of fresh air before they all seemed to be struck by just how much the garden had descended into chaos.

Most of the wedding guests seemed to be outside, some of then doubled over, nursing injuries, others lying in the grass.

A glance up at the castle showed that the fire had spread upwards, as flames could be seen on a couple of the top turrets of the castle. The night sky only seemed to highlight the intensity of the bright red flames.

There was also a slight overspill from the entrance hall, as some of the guards were staggering down the castle's main steps into the gardens.

Mary watched them for a few moments, trying to work out whether the guards were fighting on the side of the royals or the rebels, but then something caught Mary's eye that caused a fresh wave of despair to wash through her body; her father was lying in the grass a few away from them. His hands were clutching his chest, and Mary could see a lot of blood staining his white wedding shirt. He was surrounded by a group of his friends who had been invited to the wedding, along with a several members of staff. They all wore matching expressions of fear, and they all seemed to be trying to think of something they could do to help him. A few of them were using the fabric from their own clothes to stem the flow of blood, while others were shouting out for the medics, but Mary wasn't sure if their shouts would be heard over the other cries of pain and fear that were echoing around the garden.

Mary's mother was already crawling towards her husband, fighting against her own injuries. James wasn't far behind her, his injured arm still bleeding as he struggled to stay on his feet.

The queen had already known about the state her husband was in, Mary realised. Only a terrible injury would have stopped Mary's father from following his wife back into the castle to find Mary and James. Mary's mother had had to make the agonising decision to leave her husband injured outside while she went back to search for her children.

Mary, who had been kneeling down in the grass, trying desperately to catch her breath, finally managed to get to her feet. "Father," she whispered, her voice catching on a sob. She wanted to run to him, to join her family, to try to do anything she could to help, but deep down, she knew that she also had to check whether _he_ had made it out of the castle first….

Frantically, desperately, Mary scanned the garden.

She could see wedding guests, and members of staff, and guards…but there was no sign of Francis, or Catherine.

Mary's eyes scanned the same people over and over again, but he did not appear. She was spinning around in circles, trapped in a nightmare, unable to find Francis.

Greer also seemed to be frantically scanning the gardens, no doubt searching for Aloysius, who Mary had not seen since they had all been in the chapel.

Mary was distracted when she spotted a French security guard. Quickly, she held out a hand to stop him as he ran past her. "Have you seen Francis?" she demanded of him.

"No, Your Highness," he responded in a thick French accent, looking as terrified as Mary felt. "We 'ave been searching all over the castle…but there is no sign…he was last seen near the throne room…"

With that, the guard ran back towards the castle, talking frantically into his radio in rapid French.

Mary glanced in the direction where she knew the throne room to be located, on the right-hand side of the ground floor of the castle. It was on the opposite side of the castle from where Mary had been running through the corridors, before James had found her.

If Francis was still somewhere close to there…

A side door was open on the right-hand side of the castle. Mary knew that the door marked an entrance to the building that was usually used by members of staff, but no doubt it had been used as an exit tonight, and it had been left open; it could provide her with another entrance…

A thousand different thoughts seemed to run through Mary's head as her heart seemed to be pushing her to make some kind of decision…

She had got out of the castle, against all odds.

She had looked death in the eye and only just escaped it by a mix of chance and good luck.

Others had risked their lives to save her and to try to find her in the castle.

Now that she was outside, in the relative safety of the gardens, her chances of escaping the rebels were even greater.

If she ran back into the castle to find Francis, she would potentially be throwing all of that away, and insulting all those who had tried to help her in the process.

But then she thought about how she had felt earlier in the day, when she had believed that she had lost Francis for good. The emptiness; the guilt; the loss; the unbearable idea of living the rest of her life without him. If there was any chance that she could find him…

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw the flash of blue sirens, and a flash of red from a vehicle belonging to the fire services. She looked around and saw several police cars screeching down the castle's long driveway, closely followed by an ambulance. The emergency services had arrived at last.

Several medics started to run towards Mary's father, while a group of armed police were running towards the castle, shouting out orders. They were quickly joined by several members of the castle's security team.

Mary was fairly certain that the moment the guards or the police caught sight of her, they would surround her and her family, keep them in place for their own protection. If she was going to do this, then this would be her last chance…

Mary looked in the direction of the open castle door, and then she glanced at her father again. In spite of his injuries, and the distraction of all the people around him, he somehow managed to look right back at Mary. Slowly, discreetly, as though Mary alone was supposed to see, he nodded at her. Mary wasn't sure what the expression on his face conveyed-was it acceptance? Fear? Disappointment? Resignation? Whatever it was, Mary's decision had just been made.

Mary started to run in the direction of the side door to the right of the castle. She would have to put her hopes on the emergency services putting out the fire and tending to her family. There was only one person she wanted to run to now.

"Mary!" she heard James call out to her, his voice already sounding far away.

His voice sounded so angry, so worried, so desperate; he was pleading with her to stop running and come back to them, but, as much as it pained her, Mary kept going, moving even faster now.

The open door was in sight…

"Mary, no!"

She heard her mother's screams in the distance. The words seemed to pierce Mary's heart. She could not look back at her, or this would be too difficult. Her mother had made a similar decision, less than an hour ago; surely her mother would understand why Mary had to do this…

Mary kept running.

Finally, she was through the door. She was back in the castle.

* * *

Mary forced herself to keep running through the corridor that led away from the door, looking out for Francis and trying not to think about what she had just done. It was difficult to push down the doubts that were starting to take over her. If this didn't work, if Francis was not here, if she got herself trapped, or killed, then what good would come from this decision? Would her family ever forgive her? Had Francis even tried to look for _her_? Or had he and Catherine simply got as far away from the castle as they could and not looked back? Mary knew that there would be no James to save her here, if a rebel caught up with her. There would be no other friends to come to her rescue; almost everybody seemed to be outside now. Mary was on her own. She alone would have to face the consequences of this decision.

One small mercy was that the fire had not yet spread to this part of the castle. There was no strong smell of smoke, or a hint of flames dancing in the distance.

Still that did not mean that Mary was completely out of danger. The corridors seemed darker in this part of the castle, as though the power had almost completely tripped out, and fallen portraits and tables and artefacts littered the floors, along with many shards of broken glass. There even seemed to be marks across the walls that must have been caused by the slashing of knives. It was clear that several fights had recently broken out in these corridors; the rebels had already been here, which meant that there was still every chance of them reappearing from around a dark corner.

As though confirming Mary's fears, it wasn't long before she heard the sound of voices in a corridor behind her…

"They were saying that she ran back into the castle through that door over there…" Mary heard a deep male voice announce.

"She can't have gone far," said a female voice, sounding equally menacing. "We can still get her, same way the others got her father…"

The wave of fury that Mary felt at the woman's words overpowered her fear. It gave her enough of a rush of adrenaline that she was able to run and start putting some distance between herself and the two rebels.

The rebels must have worked out a few short cuts however, because the sound of their voices seemed to get closer with every step that Mary took.

After a few minutes, she found herself in a corridor with large windows placed at an equal distance along the walls. The windows looked out on the gardens at the back of the castle, which now looked dark and empty. It seemed that Francis wasn't out there, either, in the same way that he hadn't been outside at the front of the castle.

Mary could still hear the sound of the voices, getting closer. What should she do?

A wooden balcony on the first floor overlooked the hallway below. There was a large clock up that, just big enough to hide behind. A chandelier hung from the ceiling that Mary knew had not worked for several months…

Mary was struck by a sudden idea. The pieces of a plan that were formulating in her mind could either result in an action that was very brave, or very reckless, or maybe a bit of both.

Carefully, Mary crept up a narrow wooden staircase to the balcony above. She could just about reach the chandelier from here, if she leaned over the balcony a little…

Mary took out the knife that she had 'borrowed' from the rebel from the sleeve of her dress and held it tightly in her hand.

Slowly, she started to cut the chain that was connecting the chandelier to the ceiling. It took a lot of effort, but finally, the chain came loose. The chandelier crashed to the floor with an almighty bang as glass shattered and bits of metal scattered everywhere.

Mary had just enough time to hide behind a large grandfather clock on the first floor before she heard the sound of footsteps below.

The rebels had arrived.

The plan had the desired outcome: "False alarm," one rebel told the other, sounding a little out of breath. "Just the sound of something else breaking in this godforsaken place…"

"The infrastructure of this place is a joke," the second rebel spat. "The rumours must have been true about the royals being strapped for cash; not that that'll matter soon…"

With that, they turned back in the direction they had just come from and started to walk away. It was clear that they assumed that no one would be stupid enough to deliberately make that level of noise and cause a scene in a place where they were trying to hide. They had played into Mary's hopes about how they would interpret the fallen chandelier, and at least for now, she had driven them away in the opposite direction.

Mary remained in her hiding place for a little while, just to make sure that they had gone. The sound of the grandfather clock ticking however served as an uncomfortable reminder that time was still ticking away, slipping through her hands like grains of sand in an hourglass, and she still hadn't found Francis.

She stood up and moved out of her hiding place. It was time to head to the throne room.

* * *

Mary was just getting closer to the throne room when she suddenly felt her chest getting tighter. She had to pause for a moment and lean against the nearest wall, trying to catch her breath. She worried that the smoke inhalation from earlier was truly getting to her now. Already, she felt weak, dizzy, and her throat felt dry. How much longer would she be able to last, before she succumbed to exhaustion, or worse?

Suddenly, Mary was snapped back into survival mode at the sight of a knife flying through the air towards her.

Mary gasped, and she only just had enough time to throw herself down on the floor, with every muscle in her body seeming to scream in agony and protest along the way, before the knife sailed over her head and lodged itself in the wall behind her.

Still taking short, sharp breaths, Mary looked up from behind her hands to see a woman standing at the opposite end of the corridor.

She was dressed all in black, and she had hazel eyes and long, dark brown hair that was falling loosely over her shoulders.

Mary felt a familiar flicker of recognition. This was the woman who she had encountered during the meeting at the pub when the matchmaking show had just got started, the woman she believed to be Bash's mother. Had she been planning this attack the whole time, from the back corner of the local pub? Was that what those meetings had really been about?

But no, it was more than that…

As though the events of the evening had given Mary a sharper focus and unlocked something deeper in the back of her mind, she was now able to put a few more pieces of her memories together…

This was the same woman who had been at the French castle on the night of the attack, dancing with King Henry. How had Mary not made the connection before?

Had this woman been the king's mistress? This theory would make sense-Mary remembered what the king had suggested, about Bash being his son. A part of Mary had thought that the king was making this rumour up to try to confuse her, but now she wasn't so sure about that.

Had the king started to push this woman away, after she had got pregnant with Sebastian? Had she only been allowed to visit him in secret over the years?

Was she so bitter and twisted about her failed romance with the king that this was who she had become as a result?

Did she not yet know, that this attack had resulted in the death of her former lover and the father of her son? Was it truly worth enduring so much loss, just to get to the Scottish royal family? Did the rebels hate them that much?

Mary was abruptly snapped out her memories when the woman reached into her pocket, as though searching for another knife.

As fast as she could, and trying to ignore another jolt of pain in her chest, Mary pushed herself up off the floor and started to run away.

* * *

Mary might have had a slight advantage over the rebel leader due to her in depth knowledge of the castle-she was able to take a few twists and turns and surprise short cuts to try to throw the woman off-but the woman had the advantage of speed, and a body that wasn't drained of energy after a long evening of running from rebels through smoke-filled corridors.

The woman also must have had sharp hearing, because any noise that Mary made seemed to draw her closer. Mary resorted to taking slower, quieter steps, pressing herself up against the walls for fear of knives in her back.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are…" she heard the woman mutter in a sing-song voice from just around the corner, taunting her, like this was all just some sort of game.

Mary started to run faster.

* * *

It wasn't long before she reached the throne room. She wasn't sure how much danger she was putting herself in by stepping into this room, but she also wasn't sure if she had many other options left. If she kept running through the corridors, then it would only be a matter of time before one of the woman's knives connected with her body. The fact that the room had more than one exit provided her with some sort of hope that it might turn out to be safer than the corridor she was currently standing in.

Quietly, she opened the door and stepped inside.

She had originally planned to carry out a quick search for Francis in this room, but now, the throne room had turned into her own temporary place of escape; yet another last hope.

Francis wasn't in there. Trying not to feel crushed by the weight of this new disappointment, Mary was just trying to formulate some sort of plan for her next step when the door burst open.

Bash's mother was standing in the doorway, a menacing look in her eyes.

Mary ran for the concealed doorway that she knew to be on the opposite side of the room, but a glance over her shoulder told her that she would not get there in time.

The woman had another knife in her hand, and it was clear that she was about to throw it.

Mary just managed to jump behind the throne that James normally sat on for his official appearances when she heard the sound of the knife connecting with the wood on the other side of the throne.

She knew that she would not have survived it, if that knife had hit her.

The woman let out what sounded like a scream of frustration, then Mary heard the sound of her footsteps, walking towards her.

What now?

Mary was trapped.

She would not make it to any of the exit doors on time before this woman reached her.

In that moment, Mary made a decision. Saying a silent prayer, she stepped out from behind the throne. No matter what happened, she would rather face the leader of the rebels head on, rather than hiding behind a throne like a coward.

"You won't win this…" the woman told her in a deadly whisper when she caught sight of Mary, a look of hatred on her face.

"Don't you see," Mary replied, trying to hold her nerve, "no matter what happens in this room, you've already lost. The rest of my family are already out of the castle; the heir to the Scottish throne is still alive; the police are here, ready to make arrests; the survivors know the truth, about how you all planned this attack; you have only succeeded in tainting the reputation of _anyone_ who might wish to rebel against the crown; even if you survive this, you and your remaining 'guards' will have to go on the run now…"

"You're bluffing," the woman told her with a snarl.

"You know I'm not," said Mary, sounding more confident than she felt.

The woman started to run towards Mary, her hands raised and ready to attack.

Just before she could get close however, Mary saw someone else come at the rebel leader at a rapid speed and shove her to the floor.

The room was dark, and Mary could not yet make out who the other person was-the person who might just have saved her life-but she could hear the sound of screams, and she saw fists connect, and the mysterious stranger even slammed the woman into the wall a couple of times.

Within moments, the woman was lying on the floor, knocked out cold, the slow rise and fall of her chest the only indicator that she was still alive.

As Mary's eyes adjusted to the dark, Catherine slowly came into view. She was kneeling over the woman with a look of hatred in her eyes as she took several deep breaths.

Mary watched her with wide eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing; almost unable to believe that Catherine was here, alive, in this room with her; unable to believe that Catherine had just saved her life.

Slowly, Catherine got to her feet. "You foolish, foolish girl," she said as the looked right at Mary.

Then Catherine started to walk towards her.

Mary half-expected Catherine to hit her, but, to Mary's utter astonishment, she opened her arms and pulled her into an embrace.

Not really knowing what else to do, Mary simply hugged Catherine back.

"Thank you for coming back to find my son," Catherine sobbed into Mary's shoulder, still holding her tight.

So Catherine knew that this was why Mary was here; Catherine understood her motives.

"D-do you know where he is?" Mary asked Catherine the moment she stepped out of the embrace.

When Catherine shook her head, Mary had to choke down a sob of her own.

"We all got separated in the chaos outside the castle," said Catherine, sounding more vulnerable than ever before. "He was desperate to find you," she added.

Mary wasn't sure if these words reassured her or not. She just wanted Francis to be safe.

"Catherine," said Mary hesitantly, "Henry…" She didn't know how to finish that sentence, but she felt like Catherine deserved to know the truth about her husband…

"I know," said Catherine, before Mary could finish her sentence. A mixture of emotions seemed to cross her face; emotions that Mary couldn't quite read.

They heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside the throne room, along with several shouts of, "Police!".

"Let's go," said Catherine abruptly, echoing Mary's own idea. "If we're to have any chance of finding Francis, then we have to keep moving. The authorities will deal with Diane," she added with another disdainful look at the woman on the floor. Mary got the impression that there had been a long-standing rivalry between the two women.

With that, they slipped out of the door at the back of the throne room before the police could notice that they had been there.

* * *

Mary and Catherine ran through several of the rooms that were connected to the throne room hand-in-hand, the two women united at last through their love of Francis.

Mary found renewed hope in the idea that Catherine was still alive, as it meant that there was still a chance that Francis would be, too.

It was as they emerged from a small meeting room and back out into the corridor that disaster suddenly struck.

Two large portraits fell from the walls above, connecting with a suit of armour and a table full of ornaments on the way and bringing everything to the floor. The portraits had probably already been dislodged by several of the rebels' knives earlier in the evening during a fight in the corridor, and the slamming of the nearest door as Catherine and Mary emerged from the meeting room had probably been the final straw.

Mary felt Catherine push her out of way of the falling portraits, but Catherine herself did not get out of the way on time.

She took most of the impact of the fallen objects as one of the portraits fell right on top her, knocking her unconscious as she hit the floor.

Mary also found herself falling to the ground when Catherine pushed her firmly out of the way, but not before the corner of one of the portraits clipped the back of her head before it crashed to the floor.

As she fell, Mary grabbed hold of a long, golden curtain that hung next to one of the windows in the hallway, trying to ease her fall, but she only succeeded in ripping the curtain off the curtain rail, and then the golden fabric almost covered her completely as she connected with the floor.

Mary lay face forward on the floor, certain that she was trapped in some kind of state between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Through a tiny gap in the fallen objects, she could just make out the outline of Catherine, who was still out cold.

Then time seemed to move forward again as next minute, Mary opened her eyes to see Catherine being carried, by Sebastian of all people, in the direction of what Mary knew to be a passage that led back towards the front garden.

Mary's thoughts felt foggy, and she struggled to process what was happening. She just about managed to work out that Bash must have heard that Mary had run back into this part of the castle, and he must have gone in after her. But, it was clear he hadn't seen her-the curtain and all the fallen objects between her and Catherine must have hidden her from view. Instead, he must have believed that he had only stumbled upon an unconscious Catherine, and, in yet another strange act of redemption, he had decided to help her. He clearly didn't know yet that Catherine had just attacked his mother.

Mary considered trying to call out to Bash, to let him know that she was here, too, but she decided against it at the last moment-if Bash came back for her, then he would take her out of the castle, and that would be it; she would no longer be able to search for Francis. Not to mention that he could abandon Catherine and put all of his focus on saving Mary.

Catherine would want Mary to keep searching, she decided, especially as Catherine was no longer in a fit state to keep looking.

Slowly and carefully, Mary pushed the fallen curtain away from her body.

She was sure that the now all-too-familiar smell of smoke was starting to fill the corridor. She had to move.

As she tried to push herself up, her body felt heavy, and she felt a sharp pain that seemed to run all the way from her head to her chest. Her dress had been torn-she hadn't even noticed the damage until now-and there were patches of dirt on her arms and chest. It was a far cry from the immaculate-looking princess who had walked towards the chapel earlier in the evening; she felt like a different person now.

Mary had only managed to walk a few steps when her vision started to go blurry. Everything swam out of focus, and next minute, she felt herself collapse to the floor again.

She was slipping in and out of consciousness; she was so tired, so exhausted. She did not have the strength to keep going. She started to think that perhaps she should just give in to the darkness that seemed to be sweeping over her…

"Mary…?"

Mary was sure that she only imagined the voice above her. Perhaps this was some kind of hallucination brought on by the smoke.

"Mary!"

The voice was louder this time, more frantic, more insistent.

She felt a hand on her arm; it felt oh so familiar…so real.

Mary blinked rapidly a few times, before she forced herself to open her eyes.

It could not be…

Francis Valois was kneeling over her, his dishevelled hair and his ripped shirt and the frantic look in his eyes suggesting that this was perhaps not just some beautiful hallucination.

"Francis?" Mary managed to get out, even though her throat felt dry, and it was difficult to talk.

"Mary, I've been looking for you," Francis told her gently, looking like he was struggling to hold back some sort of emotion.

"You came back," Mary managed to get out in her dazed and confused state, unable to hide her own surprise.

"Mary, I never left," said Francis, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've been searching the castle; I've been looking for you everywhere."

Calling on a strength that Mary had thought had long since left her body, she managed to push herself up into a sitting position.

She sat still and looked at Francis for a few long moments, still hardly able to believe it. He was here, with her, in this corridor. For so long she had been looking, and she'd thought that they would never find each other on this dark, terrible night, but now Francis was _here_ , right beside her; Francis had been looking for her, like she had been looking for him.

"Can you stand?" she heard Francis ask her. Despite the mess and the chaos all around them, Francis looked at Mary like she was the only person he could see.

With Francis's help, Mary managed to get to her feet.

He led her over to the nearest window, and he managed to wrench it open. It was too small for them to escape from, but still Mary took grateful gulps of fresh air as a gentle breeze travelled through the open window.

With a little of her strength restored, Mary looked at Francis, and he looked back at her. So many unspoken words seemed to pass between them in that long look.

Mary stepped into Francis's arms, and he held her tight for a few moments. Mary even felt his lips brush against her hair.

"Francis, I thought I'd lost you…" Mary gasped, as she leaned in closer to his chest.

"I'm here, Mary," Francis said in reply, his tone soothing. "You have no idea how desperately I've been trying to find you..."

They held each other for what felt like long moments before Francis suddenly seemed to tense up again.

"Mary, we have to get out of here," Francis whispered into her hair. His voice was still gentle, but Mary could hear the firm, decisive tone of a king now.

Mary nodded, her focus returning to their survival.

The view from the window gave Mary an idea. "There's a set of large windows not too far from here," she explained to Francis. "If we could get to them, and get them open somehow, we could get out into the back gardens of the castle…"

Francis nodded, his body language looking decisive. "Lead the way," he told her.

* * *

Mary held Francis's hand as they headed back in the direction of the large ground floor windows that overlooked the back garden. It was as though the feeling of Francis's hand in hers was somehow renewing her strength, and her will to get through this.

This was what the two of them did best; when there was a crisis, they always ended up at each other's side, no matter what else happened to be going on in their lives at the time. When they were on a battlefield, there was never any doubt about their loyalty to one another.

Mary tried not to think about the pain that would be waiting for them outside the castle, or what would be waiting for them when all of this was over; she tried not to think about the pain and the uncertainty that they and the rest of Scotland would wake up to in the morning… _if_ they all woke up in the morning. There would be time for painful conversations later; there would be time to think about the future later. For now at least, Mary and Francis were reunited; Mary had found him, and they both had a chance of getting through this together.

They reached the large windows, the two of them gasping for breath as they came to a halt.

They both tried the windows' locks, but they wouldn't budge.

Mary was starting to feel a little faint, and a little breathless again. They had to get out, they just had to.

Mary could barely concentrate now, but she was vaguely aware of Francis grabbing hold of a large item of furniture and throwing it at full force against the glass.

The grass cracked, then it shattered, falling to the floor like a waterfall.

Mary had never before felt so relieved to see glass break.

Francis helped Mary to climb up through the window, and then when she out, Mary reached back and put her hands through the broken window, helping Francis out in return.

By some miracle, the two of them were out of the castle and in the gardens.

* * *

The gardens at the back of the castle were much quieter than those at the front. In the dark, Mary could only see a small group of wedding guests huddled together further down the gardens, looking lost and confused. Aloysius Castleroy was sitting among them, staring into the distance, looking like he was barely aware of his surroundings, like his mind was somewhere else. Mary wondered if he had seen Greer yet. Did he even know that Greer was still alive?

Beyond Aloysius, Mary could just make out the clusters of trees further down the garden. For a moment, she was sure that she saw shadows beyond the trees, moving in time with the rustling of the wind, but then she told herself that her eyes were playing tricks on her.

"We should try and put some distance between ourselves and the castle walls," Francis whispered. He still looked tense, and Mary guessed that the quietness of the gardens had unnerved him. It was almost a little too quiet…

Mary nodded in agreement-they were not out of danger yet, and by staying close to the castle, they were at an increased risk of exposing themselves to more flames or wayward guards who might jump out of the window at any moment. Almost instinctively, Mary reached for her knife, but it was no longer hidden up her sleeve. She realised that she must have dropped it when she fell to the floor. She had no weapon to defend herself with now.

Francis gestured in the direction of one of the fountains that was located about halfway down the gardens. "You need water," he told her.

Mary knew that he was right. Now that she was out of immediate danger, Mary was becoming increasingly aware of the burning sensation in her throat, and how hot and dry her skin felt, along with every ache and pain in her body. The part of her neck where the rebel had put his hand on her earlier was now starting to ache; Mary was sure that she would have a horrific bruise there by morning.

Staying close to one another, Mary and Francis started to walk towards the fountain.

They'd almost got there when they were both distracted by the sight of two other people in the gardens who Mary had not spotted at first…

Lola was lying on the ground, her eyes closed like she was unconscious (or at least, Mary hoped that she was just unconscious). Narcisse was kneeling over her, his hands pressed over her chest.

For a moment, Mary tensed, imagining that Narcisse was inflicting some kind of injury on Lola, but as she took a few steps closer, she realised that Narcisse was trying to administer some sort of CPR. Lola must have fallen unconscious in the smoke-filled castle; Narcisse must have carried her outside… Narcisse was trying to save her.

"Please, Lola, please…" Narcisse whispered, a look of desperation on his face. "Please, God," he then muttered as he looked up to the sky, "do what you must to punish me, but please let Lola be okay…"

Mary chanced a glance at Francis. His facial expression seemed to be fighting a war between his concern for Lola and his hatred of Narcisse.

Suddenly, Lola's eyes opened as she spluttered and coughed. "S-Stephan?" she gasped after she'd finished coughing. She looked confused, and exhausted.

"Oh, thank God!" Narcisse cried out, sounding genuinely relieved.

Again the thought occurred to Mary that Narcisse really did care about Lola, in spite of all of his other flaws.

Lola managed to sit up, and Narcisse took her gently in his arms, and then the two of them embraced.

He might have had Lola back in his arms, but Mary noticed that Narcisse didn't hold her as though the two of them had just been reunited, but rather as though he were about to say goodbye to someone he did not wish to be parted from.

From over Lola's shoulder, Narcisse started when he noticed that Mary was standing only a few feet away from him, watching him.

A look of great pain suddenly seemed to cross his face. "Forgive me, Mary, for what I have done," he said.

Mary frowned at Narcisse in confusion. What was he talking about? Had Narcisse been behind this attack? Had he known about it all along? Had he headed to the local pub so often to help plan this? Had he allowed the rebels to sneak in somehow? Or was he talking about something else? Had he actually been the one to sell the photos of Mary and Conde to the press, in spite of his protestations of innocence?

Francis threw Narcisse a look of utter loathing, before he turned back to look at Mary, and his expression changed to one of concern.

"Mary, you need water," he repeated as he gestured his head in the direction the fountain.

They ran the rest of the way to the fountain.

As she ran, Mary glanced over her shoulder. Narcisse now seemed to be trying to carry Lola through a narrow passageway that would lead towards the gardens at the front of the castle. Mary had a strange suspicion that Narcisse would leave Lola there to get medical help and then run away…to where, Mary didn't know. Aloysius and the group of wedding guests also seemed to have vanished into another part of the garden.

* * *

Mary took several grateful gulps of water from the fountain the moment she got close enough to reach in and scoop up the water in her hands. She felt very weak now, and she had to lean on the stone structure of the fountain to support herself. Francis placed a hand on her back, helping to hold her up as he also picked up a handful of water to drink.

When Mary had gained a little more strength, she started to splash water over her face and arms and chest, trying desperately to soothe the hot, prickling sensation all over her skin.

She had just reached for another handful of water when she saw it…

A knife was flying through the air towards the two of them, coming from the direction of the cluster of trees further down the garden.

She had barely managed to share a wide-eyed look of horror with Francis when she felt Francis's arms grab tight hold of her, and then somehow, Mary found the strength to push the two of them out of the way.

The two of them got out of the way just in time before the knife connected with the stone fountain, with the sound of metal hitting stone seeming to reverberate all around the gardens.

Frantically, Mary's eyes scanned the trees in the near distance. The shadows behind the trees were moving again; she could see another glint of metal; she had not imagined any of it…

Of course, this garden was not a place of sanctuary after all. How could she have been so naïve, so foolish? This was another trap...

"Run!" she screamed at Francis.

They had to get out of here, and fast.

But Francis's eyes were fixed on something beyond Mary; something that Mary somehow hadn't noticed yet…

Another knife was flying towards her at high speed…she had no time to run, to get out of the way; her only hope was to duck, to drop to the ground…

The knife was only inches away from her now…

Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Before Mary could move, Francis dived in front of her, his arms held out to protect her, to stop the knife from piercing her skin.

But the knife connected with someone else instead, perhaps in payment for Mary being spared yet again against all the odds.

She heard Francis's cry of agony as the knife connected with his side, and then he went heavy in her arms as the two of them fell to the floor in a tangled heap.

Mary started to scream as the realisation of what had just happened started to hit her.

Desperately, she looked down at Francis as she held him in her arms. He was still alive, thank God-his eyes were still open, and he was still breathing, but he was clearly in agony.

Already, Mary could feel his blood on her hands.

Mary looked around the garden as she cried out for help. In the distance, she saw several rebels move away from their hiding place behind the trees as they ran in the direction of the wall surrounding the gardens and started to climb it. It seemed they had achieved what they had set out to do-perhaps they believed by the sound of Mary's agonised screams that she too had been wounded-and now they were going to run away like the cowards they were.

There was nobody else in the gardens-Narcisse and Lola and Aloysius now seemed to have vanished completely.

 _No! No!_ _No!_ a frantic voice in Mary's head seemed to scream, over and over. This could not be happening, not now! They had got out; they had survived everything else that the castle had thrown at them, in spite of all the odds being against them; they had embraced and held hands, reunited in the middle of the battlefield…only for this to happen when they'd finally thought that they'd escaped. She could not lose Francis now, not now that they had finally found each other; there was so much she still had to tell him; so many feelings that had gone unspoken…

Out of the darkness, Mary suddenly spotted a man running towards them. She held Francis a little tighter, terrified that this was yet another rebel who had returned to finish them off.

As the man got closer, he came into clearer view. It was Sebastian.

"Bash, please," Mary begged him as she looked up at him. She wasn't sure what exactly she was asking of him; she just needed someone to help save Francis, even if that someone could potentially be on the side of the rebels; right now, saving Francis was all she cared about.

Bash took one look at Francis and his face seemed to go pale.

He ripped another piece of fabric from his own shirt and placed it on Francis's side, using it to attempt to stem some of the blood flow.

"I'll go and get help," he told Mary, his expression firm. "I'll get the medics to come around here…"

Mary could only nod. She felt too weak to stand now; she was starting to feel dizzy; she could barely move, let alone stand.

As Bash started to run away in the direction of the front gardens, Mary was painfully aware of the fact that Sebastian was now her last hope of saving Francis. If he decided to run away and not come back, then it was all over; there would be no other hope.

"Mary…" she heard Francis whisper to her; his face was pale, drawn, and he sounded like he was struggling to catch his breath.

"F-Francis," Mary replied, her voice trembling as she looked down at him. "Please try to hold on; Bash has gone to get help; the medics will be here soon; you have to keep fighting…"

"Mary, I'm sorry," said Francis. "I'm so, so sorry about the matchmaking show...about everything…"

"Francis, please," Mary begged him, not wanting him to hurt himself any further by trying to talk. "There will be time for apologies later. Please try to save your strength…"

Francis however seemed desperate to say whatever he had to say, as though he believed these words would be his last. "I should have been more honest with you," he continued quickly, like he was rushing to get the words out. "I should have t-told you everything from the s-start…"

"Francis, please, it's okay," Mary heard herself sob. It was clearly painful for him to talk right now, and all Mary cared about was his survival.

"Mary, it's you," said Francis, undeterred. "It's always been you. You've always been my dream, from the moment we agreed to marry as children in the gardens. Olivia knew…that's why we didn't stay together. She heard me calling your name over and over in my sleep after the attack in the French castle; that was when she worked it all out, and I could no longer deny it; we broke up only days later…later we tried getting back together, but things were never truly the same after that..."

At any other time, Mary would have been surprised, astounded even to hear this revelation-she never would have imagined that this was the reason why Francis and Olivia had broken up-but now, she was much too concerned about Francis's laboured breathing and the pained expression on his face to think about anything else.

"For years I tried to hide my feelings, to push them down," said Francis, sounding like he was gasping for breath now. "I told myself it was for the best; I had my duties as a future king; we were from rival countries; I was sure that you would have a long list of suitors who would make you their priority and always put you first. But maybe I was just a coward; too scared to talk to you, t-too nervous to be around you for too long, too afraid of rejection. And then I let petty jealousy take over when I saw those pictures of you and Conde. I looked for an excuse as to why we couldn't be together, so I wouldn't have to face up to the truth that _you_ are what I want more than anything in the world…more than the crown; that was what made my family so afraid, the idea that I wanted you more than any of that; that was why they tried to bring it all under control and later try to convince me that it would all be a terrible mistake. And I let them, Mary, because the fear of taking a risk with my heart and then potentially losing you as well as my country was just too great…"

Mary continued to sob. All of Francis's words were resounding somewhere deep in her heart, but she was too worried about his wellbeing to truly appreciate what he was saying to her.

"Francis…" she whispered, as more tears fell down her cheeks.

"I've been such a fool, Mary. I've always hidden what was in my heart; I've always tried to put the crown first, I've always wanted to be a great king…but what does it even matter, now that I'm…now that it might not happen…"

Mary felt a fresh wave of dread at Francis's words. "Francis, don't talk like that!" she interrupted him, trying to keep her voice firm. This could _not_ be a goodbye speech; Francis had to fight for his life.

"And now it might be too late, and I haven't had the chance to tell you that…"

Words suddenly failed Francis as his eyes closed and he fell into unconsciousness. His breathing seemed to be getting shallower.

Mary had to stifle another scream.

Within moments, the garden suddenly seemed to come alive again as people materialised all around them.

Mary felt sick, dizzy; the noise and the chaos was too much; she was barely even aware of what was going on around her; she barely even cared; everything seemed to be spinning around…

She saw a team of medics running towards her and Francis, shouting out words that Mary could not make out.

Her vision was really starting to go blurry now.

Through a few gaps in her blurred vision, Mary saw Bash, surrounded by several police officers. He had been handcuffed, and they were leading him away.

He was closely followed by Diane.

Next she saw Narcisse, also being led away in handcuffs. Wherever he'd been trying to hide in the gardens, the authorities had found him.

Mary could barely even begin to put all the pieces together, to process it all.

What confused her the most was the sight of Aloysius that appeared in her now hazy line of vision. He was also in handcuffs, and he was being led out of the gardens by several police officers.

Mary wanted to call out, to tell them that they had got the wrong man, but she no longer had the strength to form words; all of her strength had left her the moment Francis fell into unconsciousness.

There were more people running towards them, but Mary could not make out if they were friend or foe. There were other people shouting, but Mary could not hear a word they were saying.

Her chest felt as though it had been tied in knots. All of her limbs felt heavy.

Within moments, her vision went black.

Mary collapsed onto Francis's chest, saying one more silent prayer for his survival before she allowed unconsciousness to take her.


	24. Chapter 24

Mary was fairly certain that she was dreaming.

She was walking through beautiful gardens, towards a cluster of trees, while the sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky.

As she started to walk among the trees, she could hear the soft, soothing sound of birds singing, somewhere in the distance.

What felt like only moments later, a bird came in to land, right on her arm. It regarded Mary for a few moments, its expression almost curious, while Mary looked back at it with equal curiosity.

It wasn't long before Mary made a decision. She stretched her arm out a little further before she muttered, "You can go," to the bird, her tone of voice gentle but also firm, determined.

The bird seemed to understand. It looked at Mary one last time, before it spread its wings wide and took off; before it turned into a bird in flight.

Mary watched the bird as it soared into the sky. There was a sadness, in watching it go, but at the same time, it felt like the right thing to do. Mary felt like a weight had been lifted from her whole body, in letting the bird fly away. It was a relief, to not have those claws digging into her skin anymore.

As soon as the bird was out of sight, she carried on walking.

Finally, the trees opened out into a clearing. Mary had a strange feeling that this place had been her destination all along.

In the middle of the clearing was a tree. There were hundreds of white petals on the tree. Even as Mary moved to stand under the tree, several of the white petals began to fall onto her head. It was beautiful.

Mary knew somehow that she had been here many times before; she knew that she would be happy here, if she stayed for a little while longer; a part of her really wanted to stay. She felt so peaceful, so free of worries...the heavy weight of her old and her more recent memories did not press down so heavily on her here, in this dream world.

Already, she sensed that if she opened her eyes, if she allowed herself to wake up from this peaceful dream, then she would be pulled back into a lot of pain, a lot of suffering, a lot of heartache. Here she felt so light, but when she woke up, she suspected that everything would feel so heavy. It was tempting, to just stay here, in this beautiful place where her memories could not trouble her; a place where the birds had already taken off and left her alone.

But…Mary paused and took a good look around, spinning slowly in a circle as the petals continued to fall down gently on her head…Something was not right…

He was not here. It was not the same without him here. She did not feel complete.

This place, however beautiful, felt empty without him. She had to find him. She could not stay here in peace, without knowing where he was.

She had to see him. She had to talk to him. She had to know what had happened to him.

Here, she only knew part of the story; she sensed that her story was not yet complete.

She had to go back to the castle.

Almost instantly, this decision caused a sense of foreboding to wash over her, even in this happy place. But she had to get answers, to learn exactly what had happened; to put all the pieces back together, to heal. She had to learn the truth.

" _Mary_ …"

She heard a familiar voice, trying to wake her up, trying to call her back.

" _Mary_ …"

She was sure that the voice belonged to her brother.

She had to go back…

The tree and the clearing and the sunlight started to fade. For a little while, there was only darkness.

* * *

Mary blinked rapidly several times before she managed to open her eyes. Already, her body was starting to feel heavier.

"Mary…"

She could just make out the faint outlines of her mother and her brother, standing over her, saying her name. They sounded like they were making a great effort to keep their voices calm.

Mary felt groggy, disorientated. All of her thoughts seemed to be so muddled. Where was she? What was happening?

She became vaguely aware of the fact that she was lying down in a bed that was not her own. As she tried to move a little, a jolt of pain rushed through her body, in particular through her head and her neck and her chest. It also felt like several shards of glass had pierced the skin on her arms and legs.

As she tried to sit up a little, her lungs felt tight, like she had to gasp for air.

A quick glance around the still blurry looking room showed her that she was in a bed in the castle's hospital wing. It looked like she had been given a private room. A digital clock on a bedside table showed that it was a little after three o'clock in the afternoon. Through her muddled thoughts, she worked out that she must have slept through most of the day.

Her mother and her brother came into slightly clearer view, their faces looking worried, pained. There were scratches and bruises on their faces, their shoulders. James's arm was in a sling. Mary's mother looked like she had been crying. They were still wearing their wedding outfits. The _wedding_ …

Suddenly, the memories of the night before came flooding back to Mary…

The chapel…

The fire…

The corridors filled with smoke…

The rebel attack…

The bird-in-flight tattoos…

The broken glass and the fallen objects…

The gardens…

The knife…

Francis…

Francis...

_Francis_...

"Francis!" Mary called out desperately, her voice almost a scream as she fought her injuries and struggled to sit up.

"Francis!" she called out again, ignoring her mother's pleas for her to be careful and lie back down and not cause herself any further injuries.

Never before had Mary felt so frantic, so desperate. Her urgency to find out what had happened to him, whether he was alive, safe, had overtaken every other thought, every other emotion. She could not calm down until she found out.

She repeated his name again, over and over, still fighting to get out of the hospital bed, in spite of the murmurings of disapproval coming from several of the hospital staff on the other side of the room.

"He's alive, Mary, he's alive!" James told her in an urgent-sounding whisper as he placed a hand on her arm as though to steady her, to calm her down before she reached the point of hysteria, to prevent her from losing it completely. He must have known that Mary would not rest until she'd heard of Francis's fate. "He's still unconscious, and injured," James continued, a very serious expression on his face, as though being careful not to give her false hope. "And the French royal family are being very guarded with the information they're communicating to us, but he's here, just in the room next door, and he's alive."

Mary allowed herself to fall back down towards her pillows. An overwhelming sense of relief flooded her whole body on hearing this news. It was a relief so strong, so profound, and this sensation, combined with her sense of agony, almost made her feel dizzy.

"Thank God," she whispered into the thin air, her lungs still tight. "Thank God."

Her whole world had been broken, but she had to be grateful that at least Francis was still a part of that world.

Francis was alive, and her mother and her brother were here, standing over her hospital bed, clearly hurt but still _here_. Perhaps they would forgive her, for all her arguments with them in the recent past, for the plans she had made to leave.

"I have to see Francis," she told James and her mother after a few seconds of silence as she tried to sit up again. She had to see for herself that he was here, to know for sure. She could not stand to be apart from him for a moment longer.

"Mary," said her mother, in the same tone of voice that she used to use when Mary was being disobedient as a child, although there was also a hint of concern and protectiveness in her voice now, too. "You are injured, and in pain, and you and Francis have both been through a terrible ordeal. It would be better for the two of you to rest for a little while longer…"

"No, you can't change my mind," Mary argued with her mother, already pushing herself up and out of the hospital bed. "I have to see Francis. Now." She knew that she probably sounded like a petulant child, but right now, she could barely even think rationally. She had been so close to losing him, and she felt so much guilt and responsibility as she thought about the reason why he was injured in the first place. She had to see him.

As Mary went to stand up, she could feel that there were a couple of bandages on her arms and legs, and her body still felt a little numb, to go with the fogginess in her mind. She wondered just how many painkillers she had been given over the past few hours, as the medics attempted to numb the pain, if only temporarily.

The look on her mother's face suggested that all of this went against her better judgement. There was another look on her face, too; one of despair, of heartbreak, even. "You are only to stay in there for a few minutes," her mother said, finally giving in, although her tone of voice suggested that she was not to be argued with this time. "Just so you can see for yourself that Francis is there. If the French royals do not wish for you to be in there, then you must respect their wishes. After that, you are to return to your bed, so the medical staff can continue to treat you. Your body has not yet recovered, and there is still a risk that you will go into shock. You are to come back here, and _not_ go wandering off around the castle. Do you understand me, Mary?"

Still feeling a little dazed, Mary nodded. She barely had the strength to protest. It occurred to her that she did not _want_ to go wandering around the castle; she wasn't yet ready to see the damage that had been done to the building.

She could hardly believe that less than twenty-four hours ago, she had been making plans to leave this castle for good, to start a new life somewhere else. Now, she could barely even picture herself stepping outside the castle's main doors.

She started to take a few steps towards the door, before she froze. A new, terrible thought had suddenly just occurred to her-a thought that she felt awful for not having earlier, when she had not seen her entire family standing around her hospital bed…

"J-James," she asked her brother, her voice trembling, already dreading what the answer would be, "our father?"

Surely he was somewhere close by, her mind tried to rationalise with her; recovering from his injuries in another hospital bed?

The look of pain that crossed her brother's face as he looked back at his sister told her what she needed to know before he had given his answer. "Mary, I'm sorry," he muttered, his eyes filling with tears, even though Mary had never seen him cry before.

Even her mother could not prevent her tears from running slowly down her cheeks. Perhaps her parents' marriage had been arranged at first, but they had grown to love each other very deeply over the years, there was no denying that. Her mother's grief and heartbreak were so painfully real.

Mary nodded, her own eyes filling with tears as she bowed her head, the despair and a new sense of guilt threatening to overcome her.

The news about her father almost didn't seem real yet. She was afraid of how she would feel when the reality of it truly hit her.

* * *

Mary took slow, tentative steps as she walked through the corridor outside the hospital wing, covering the short distance that it took to walk from one private room to the other. It was cold out here, and she found herself wrapping the large robe that the hospital staff had provided for her even tighter around her body.

With every step she took, the memories seemed to come back to her in more detail. Already, her mind was re-living those last moments with her father outside the castle, before her memories jumped to those moments with Francis in the gardens. The words that Francis had said to her before he fell into unconsciousness played over and over in her thoughts. The memories almost made her head hurt, and she was sure that she not imagining the pain in her chest. Had he meant what he had said?

Her mind might have felt a little less foggy out in the corridor, but Mary was still so confused about everything. What had happened to those who had been arrested? What had happened in the hours since the attack, when Mary had been lying unconscious in a hospital bed? What had happened to her friends, the other wedding guests? How much did the general public know about what had occurred? Had the media got hold of the story yet? How had they spun the story of the event in all of the newspaper articles? Were James and Kenna still planning on getting married?

So many questions, and still Mary was not sure if she was ready to receive all the answers yet.

* * *

Two French guards stood by the door that led into Francis's private room within the hospital wing. Mary froze when she saw them, feeling a prickle of fear run through her body. She half expected them to run at her and begin to attack her, so strong was her association now becoming between 'guard' and 'enemy'. She knew that it would take a long time to overcome this new fear; this new, traumatic association.

The guards did not move, but they started to mumble to each other in rapid French before they nodded in Mary's direction and stepped to one side, like they had already been instructed that they were to allow her entry into the room.

Mary's hands were shaking as one of the guards opened the door for her and indicated that she should go inside. She was so determined to see Francis, but that didn't mean that she wasn't feeling terrified about what she would find on the other side of the door. How badly injured was he? Would he remember any of it? What would he think of her? Would he hold her responsible for what had happened? Would he even want to see her?

* * *

Mary struggled to take in all of her surroundings as she stepped fully into the room.

First, her eyes fell on Francis, who was lying in a hospital bed in the centre of the room. There were bandages on the side of his body where the knife had hit him, and his face looked very pale.

He still looked beautiful, with his blond curls spread out delicately over his pillow.

His eyes were closed, but Mary felt like her heart caught as she took in the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing. He was alive.

The relief on seeing him was almost overwhelming, and Mary struggled to catch her breath as she felt the tears prickle in her eyes.

The relief was mixed in with so much fear, so much anxiety; she was so afraid that this relief would only be short-lived; that some cruel twist of fate would still snatch Francis away from her, just when she started to get complacent.

Her mind kept frantically running through all the terrible what-ifs. What if Francis's health worsened? What if he did not recover? What if he hadn't truly meant the words he had told her in the gardens? What if they had just been a product of his desperate fear that those words would be his last, and he'd simply wanted to offer Mary some sort of reassurance? What if he changed his mind about what he'd said, when he woke up to the harsh reality of the aftermath of the attack? What if he decided that he could no longer live by those words of love, that he really did have to put his duties first, now that he was the king of France, and Scotland was in such a weakened state and could no longer serve as an ally?

Mary shook her head slowly as all these thoughts threatened to overwhelm her. She could barely even begin to process the fact that Francis was now the king of France. How would he feel about this news? She could only hope that he would have the opportunity to wake up and find out. And soon.

As much as Mary's fears were threatening to overwhelm her, and as much as she now knew that her heart belonged to Francis, she also knew deep in her heart that Francis's survival was more important than her own selfish wishes. Francis just had to get through this; to recover; this was what she was certain of. He had to have his opportunity to be king, to fulfil his destiny. She silently made a vow to accept his possible rejection, as painful as it would be, as long as he could survive. He just had to survive.

Looking back on her teenage years, Mary could see now that she had always been a little selfish; she had often acted in her own self-interest, and put her own needs first. But now, finally, she knew that were so many other things that she was prepared to put in front of her own wishes. She wanted her family to be okay, to survive through their grief; she wanted James to be happy and healthy, to be able to choose for himself the life that he wanted; she wanted to resolve her issues with her mother; she wanted her mother's remaining time to be filled with love and peace; she wanted for all of her friends to be okay; she wanted Francis to survive, and for his family to recover from everything that had happened last night.

If all of that happened, then she could not ask for anything more for herself. It would have to be enough.

Right here, in this moment, she could only be thankful that Francis's heart was still beating; she could not selfishly wish that his heart was beating for her.

There were several other people in the room, all of them pacing up and down and talking rapidly in a mix of English and French, creating a general sense of hustle and bustle, but Mary was so focused on Francis that she was barely even aware of the other people, at first.

Several French security guards lined the walls of the room, looking like they were ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of a threat.

A few medical staff were also huddled in a corner of the room, talking to one another in low voices. Mary heard them talk about fairly standard things, like painkillers and medication and blood loss, but she also heard them talk about other things, like chance, and luck, and twists of fate. They said something about how the metal had hit at just the right angle to minimise the potential damage, and the angle that the knife had hit, along with a royal medallion that Francis had conveniently been carrying in his pocket at the time, had served to minimise the knife's impact. They also sounded impressed by the quality of the medical treatment that Francis had received from the paramedics in the immediate aftermath of the attack. It seemed that all of these factors combined had worked to save Francis's life.

Mary allowed herself another small sigh of relief. In spite of the tragedies that had occurred last night, she had to be grateful for small miracles.

She looked in Francis's direction again. Sitting right next to his bed, somehow making an old, wooden, spare chair look like a throne due to her regal posture, was Francis's mother.

Catherine was looking at her son as though no one else mattered; as though her entire future rested in his hands.

Mary took a tentative step closer, not really sure how her visit to this room would be received by Catherine.

It was one thing to run through a castle together hand-in-hand when they'd both been in a desperate state, focused entirely on finding Francis, but it was another to face up to all the issues that still remained between them in the cold light of day.

Mary was also fairly certain that Catherine had reached her own conclusions as to who was to blame for Francis's current state.

After a few long seconds, Catherine finally seemed to register Mary's presence. She stared at her for a long while, her expression unreadable.

In spite of everything, Mary couldn't help feeling sorry for Catherine. In the space of one evening, she had lost her husband, and almost lost her son. There would be so much uncertainty in France right now; a burden that currently seemed to be on Catherine's shoulders. Regardless of Catherine's own personal feelings towards her husband, her place in the French castle was no longer as secure as it had been at the start of the matchmaking process, when her husband had been alive and ruling France with Catherine officially at his side.

Finally, Catherine let out a sigh and she looked right at Mary before she gave a quick nod of her head, gesturing that Mary should sit down beside the hospital bed.

As Mary slowly and hesitantly took a seat in another spare chair beside the bed, she knew somehow that this gesture of Catherine's was meant as some kind of acceptance of Mary's place in Francis's life; or an act of respect, perhaps, after Mary had put herself at great risk by running back into the castle to find Francis.

Mary nodded back at Catherine before she focused her attention on Francis again. It seemed that she and Catherine had entered into some sort of tentative alliance, after the events of last night.

* * *

Mary remained seated by Francis's hospital bed for what could have been minutes or hours-she had long since lost track of time-until several more members of Francis's team of staff arrived, no doubt wanting to discuss Francis's health, and the matter of France's new king, with Catherine, and Mary decided, however reluctantly, that she should probably honour her promise to her mother and start to think about returning to her hospital bed, so that the medical staff could check on her again.

She leaned forward and promised Francis in a whisper that she would return soon; she told him that she didn't want to go, that she would rather stay with him. But Francis was still in a deep sleep, and Mary wasn't sure that he could hear her.

* * *

Mary might have promised her mother to head straight back to her hospital room, but as soon as Mary walked out of Francis's room, she turned left instead of turning right, deciding that she wasn't quite ready to go back to her own hospital room just yet. The thought of all the medical staff fussing over her and talking about her injuries while she looked at the grief-stricken expressions on her mother and her brother's faces was almost too much to bear, and she really wanted a few minutes on her own to compose herself before she had to face it all again.

She walked a little further down the corridor, eventually sitting down in a chair that happened to be leaning against the wall. Her legs seemed to groan in protest as she sank down into the chair, and she felt a sharp twist of pain in her chest, before the pain moved to her neck. It seemed that the painkillers were starting to wear off.

A glance to her left gave her a glimpse of some of the damage that had been done last night; there were black marks on the walls, and fallen objects on the floors, along with shards of broken glass. A few members of staff were gathered in a small group at the end of the corridor, holding phones and clipboards and talking in hushed voices about the cost of repairs, and the possibility of providing extra security outside the castle for the next couple of weeks. Their words almost seemed muffled to Mary, as though they were all talking from a great distance; as though there were some physical barrier between them and where Mary was sitting in the corridor. Mary wondered if this was a side effect of the painkillers wearing off, or whether she really was going into shock, as her mother had predicted.

As she felt another sharp pang in her chest, the full impact of what had happened finally started to hit Mary. It felt a little like coming out of a trance.

The tears fell freely down her cheeks as the memories of the night before came crashing into her mind, playing at rapid speed in her thoughts while also appearing to her in sharp, vivid detail.

She also couldn't stop thinking about Francis, lying injured in his hospital bed. She had been so close to losing him. Last night, out in the gardens, she really had thought that their story had reached a tragic ending.

She thought of her father…gone, and his awful last moments. Had he even been proud of her, or had he left feeling nothing but disapproval for her decision to run back into the castle to find Francis?

Her father was so loved, here in the castle, and everybody would miss him. Mary would miss him. The castle would never quite be the same, without him.

She thought about Sebastian, and Narcisse, and Aloysius. Had the three men all betrayed her and her family, in the way that the authorities seemed to believe that they had? What did Greer think about all this? She had looked so upset, so guilty last night.

As Mary continued to cry, she thought about all the casualties, all the damage that had been done to the castle, to Scotland's reputation. How could they ever recover from any of this?

Then, she heard the faint sound of footsteps as somebody approached her.

She felt her whole body tense up as some sort of reflex reaction; the events of last night had taught her to anticipate and fear an attack at any moment. She knew that it would take a long time before she would be able to walk through the castle's corridors again without expecting an enemy to be hiding around every dark corner.

She relaxed a little when she saw Catherine approaching her.

She had no idea why Catherine had left her son's room to try to find her, but her expression was not angry, or fearful. It seemed she hadn't come to bear any bad news.

The two of them looked at each other for a little while, as though sizing each other up, working each other out.

"W-what do I do, Catherine?" Mary asked her around yet another sob. She felt so weak, so helpless. She knew that her tone of voice was desperate, pleading; she knew how pathetic she would have looked, in other circumstances, but right now, she just needed someone to be here, to tell her how she could even begin to get past this, when everything seemed so hopeless. She felt like she was falling apart, and she needed someone to help put her back together.

Catherine's facial expression remained serious, unshakeable. "You hold your head high and you go out there and face your subjects and you look right into the media's cameras and you tell them that this disaster has not beaten you," said Catherine, her voice unwavering, even as Mary watched her with an expression of shock. Did Catherine really expect her to face her subjects and the media, so soon after the attack? "You take the narrative into your own hands, before the media or your enemies can get a hold of your story and put their own spin on it. You appear _strong_ , Mary, even if you might not feel that way. You have to be strong, so that you can reassure those who do not feel that way. This is a battle, and you _must_ demonstrate to your country that it is a battle you intend to _win_. If you don't, then the crown can be snatched from your head at any moment; your enemies will have defeated you!"

Mary continued to stare at her, trying to process all of Catherine's words. In a way, she felt better on hearing these words of cold comfort. There was something invigorating about the idea of facing this head on, rather than sitting still for hours on end and listening to platitudes and rehearsed words of sympathy and false reassurances. It was almost like Catherine had just slapped her across the face, but the slap, however painful, had served to snap her back to her senses.

But still, the thought of going outside this evening and facing the press and the photographers who had no doubt gathered outside the castle gates, desperately clamouring for a headline-grabbing story, was petrifying.

Perhaps Catherine had sensed her doubt, her hesitation, because she added: "We are royals, Mary; what other choice do we have?"

* * *

Less than an hour after her conversation with Catherine, Mary found herself walking through the castle's entrance hall, taking slow, determined steps.

It would have been so easy to crumble and fall on surveying all the damage that had been done to the entrance hall; glass had been shattered and antique paintings had been ripped from the walls, while what looked like a few broken weapons were still scattered all over the floor-but Mary knew that she could not do that right now. She had a duty, to her country and her family. She had to appear calm and strong and brave, so as to help reassure others. If she gave up, surrendered to the despair, then the rebels would have won. And she would _not_ let them win. She had to fight back, in her own way.

This speech had been hastily arranged. A small team of stylists and hair and makeup artists who had stayed in the castle had scrambled to get Mary ready to face the press. Mary had instructed them that she was to look smart, serious, and that any injuries were not to look too obvious.

As the stylists helped her get ready, Mary had had only minutes to plan out exactly what she was going to say to Scotland's media. There was no Narcisse around to help her now; no Publicity Team to tell her what to say and how to act. Mary knew that most of this speech was going to have to come from the heart.

Of course, the plan to give a speech this evening went completely against her mother's wishes. Her mother had got a little angry, telling Mary that she should not be focusing on all this just yet, that she should be resting, trying to recover, and that if any speeches were to be given, then they should be given by James, the heir to the throne.

Mary and Catherine had just about managed to convince her to give her permission for this, which was helped along by the fact that James, who was still in a lot of pain from his injury, was perfectly happy for Mary to give a speech instead of him. It almost seemed like he no longer cared, about his royal duties.

"I will rest easier tonight, Mother," Mary had told Queen Marie, "if I can get this done first."

Mary had been trying to reassure herself at the time. It felt a little wrong, almost, to be getting dressed up to perform and put on a show for the cameras yet again, especially when all that Mary wanted to do was curl up in the chair next to Francis's bed and stay there with him all night, forgetting about the rest of the world, but deep down, Mary knew that this had to be done. Catherine's advice had sparked something inside her.

With Catherine's words fresh in her mind, Mary continued to walk towards the main doors. Two guards stood on either side of the doors, dutifully opening them for Mary when she got closer.

Again, Mary felt that heightened sense of anxiety on seeing the guards, but her mother had reassured her that all of the guards who had been working with the rebels had already been arrested. Only the loyal ones remained.

The guards both greeted her with a typical curt nod, but Mary heard them both whisper, "Good luck, Your Highness," just before she stepped outside.

* * *

Finally, Mary was standing outside on the stone steps that led up to the castle, facing a few trusted photographers and media outlets who had been specially invited into the castle grounds to witness this moment.

Several guards also lined the castle driveway. It seemed that Mary's mother was not taking anymore chances.

Mary held her head high as she took in the assembled audience. She kept her gaze steady as she looked into the cameras, knowing that the citizens of Scotland would be watching her through those lens. She imagined that all of her subjects were really here with her, right now, assembled in the gardens, waiting for her to address them directly. If she fell apart on camera, then the rest of the country would also continue to panic, and they would feel defeated. The royal family's response to this crisis would decide Scotland's future, Mary just knew it. Mary's subjects were depending on her.

"People of Scotland," Mary began, struggling not to let her voice waver. "Last night, this castle was attacked…" Mary paused. Saying it out loud made it all the more real; it made all of the flashbacks even sharper, more vivid. But she couldn't crumble now; she had to keep going. "We were attacked by rebels who chose to wear masks to hide their identity while they carried concealed weapons." It was painful, saying it all out loud, but there was almost something healing in acknowledging it, in sharing her grief with the rest of the nation. Perhaps she would be criticised, in being so honest, so direct with the rest of the country about what had happened, but, if the matchmaking show had taught her one lesson, it was that it was often easier in the long run to just tell the truth, however painful that truth could be.

"The rebels planned to burn the castle to the ground so that all evidence of their guilt would be erased. This was an act of cowardice!"

Mary's sense of anger at the injustice of it all was starting to replace her sense of fear.

"The attack came from within; the rebels sought to earn our trust while they plotted behind our backs. They deceived us at the worst possible moment; it was the ultimate act of betrayal. It is often worse to be deceived by those we believe to be our friends, our allies, than it is to be deceived by our enemies."

Mary paused to survey the crowd, to try to gauge their reactions. Even a few members of the press were looking surprised that Mary was being so frank with them. Or perhaps they were simply surprised that she was out here giving a speech in the first place, so soon after the attack.

"Not only did this group of rebels seek to threaten and terrorise my family," Mary continued, finding her voice a little more now as she got into the flow of her speech, "but innocent people were also killed and injured during the attack. Wedding guests and people who worked in the castle-all of them had friends, families; all of that was taken away from them last night, and for what purpose?" Mary demanded, unable to keep any of the anger out of her voice now. "They did not deserve any of it."

"Today, I'm standing before you not only as a member of your royal family, but also as a young woman whose father was killed in the attack on the castle…"

Mary heard a few gasps from the crowd. She knew that her mother had already released an official statement to the press about the fate of her husband, but still, it must have come as such a shock to hear Mary confirm the bad news out loud.

"Other family members, and several of my friends, were also injured during the attack," Mary added, really struggling not to break down now. It was all so real. "I am still fearful for the safety of those who are dear to me…The rebels ensured that we were _all_ victims of the attack, and, had they succeeded in what they set out to do, I doubt that they would have stopped there. They would likely have continued to bully and to threaten and to resort to violence and aggression and under-handed tactics to ensure that their demands were met. Their violence would have continued to spread to the streets of Scotland, and heaven help anyone who got in their way."

Mary did not want to scare the people of Scotland, but she also wanted them to understand, that a Scotland ruled by those sort of rebels would have meant a rule by fear.

Mary's voice was much stronger now. It was not so terrifying anymore, in the way that it had been before the matchmaking show got started, to address a crowd and give speeches, especially when Mary was focusing on matters that were far more important than her own nerves.

"I have no doubt," she went on, "that had the rebels succeeded last night, Scotland would have been destroyed. But they did not win," she declared to the crowd, as she let a look of fierce determination cross her face. "The air to the Scottish throne is still alive. The castle will be repaired and rebuilt, so that we can receive more visitors who wish to meet peacefully with us to discuss plans for reform and improvement. We _will_ recover from this. For months, we have been working with our Prime Minister and the Scottish Parliament to improve education and the quality of life in Scotland; that work will continue. France has very generously offered assistance with our security budget, and your safety will continue to be our priority. My family and I will continue to fight for all of you."

Mary continued to keep her voice level as she spoke. She had to appear confident that all of these improvements would take place, so that the people of Scotland could also put their trust in the royals to carry out this good work.

"We only ask of you all," said Mary, "that you work with us, so that we can work _together_. For those of you who have perhaps been tempted into joining the various rebel groups that are secretly operating in Scotland…" -again these words drew rather shocked reactions from the crowd-"I ask you to instead come to us peacefully, negotiate with us, share your concerns, so that we can seek to ease those worries, to find viable solutions. Violence is _not_ the answer. Remember that there are consequences for every action…"

Here Mary squared her shoulders, looking directly into the cameras. She wanted to encourage peace among her subjects, but this was also her moment to fight back against the rebels, to dissuade others from taking similar action…

"This attack from the rebels cannot and will not be tolerated. Any of those responsible for the attack who have not yet been arrested will be found, and they will face trial according to Scottish law. Their faces and their actions will be exposed to the entire country; they will not be able to hide behind masks anymore. Anyone else who attempts to mimic their behaviour will also face the same legal action. Let this be a message to _anyone_ who thinks to threaten our country."

Mary knew that the royals would have to follow through on this plan; there would have to show that there were consequences for this attack. Deep down, she also knew that she had to find out the full story about this attack, so that she could better understand how and why it had happened. She would have to pay a visit to Bash and Narcisse and Aloysius soon, to hear what they had to say; to try to find out some more of the truth. She wasn't sure if she was yet ready to face Bash's mother, but she would have to try to find out her story, too.

Mary paused briefly before she launched into the final words of her speech, surveying the crowd and trying to keep the expression on her face strong, determined; like a queen about to ride into battle.

And it was true, in a way-there would still be a battle to fight, before they could even begin to take the next steps and repair the damage that had been done. Within the castle, everything was still so uncertain; Francis's fate still hung in the balance; Scotland's future was still undecided; Mary was still not entirely sure what had become of her friends, or what would become of James and Kenna's arranged marriage; she had not even begun to process her grief over the loss of her father, or process her sense of guilt for all the other losses that had occurred last night.

And yet, this was a battle that she was determined to win, one way or another.

"I thank you for your support," Mary told the crowd, the cameras, already feeling the sense of exhaustion begin to creep up on her, now that she had put her words out there. "Together, we will rebuild a stronger Scotland."

With that, Mary turned on her heel and headed back inside the castle, ignoring the loud and demanding questions from the journalists, especially the questions about whether the matchmaking show would continue-it was not the time or the place to talk about a television show.

She planned on paying another visit to Francis, to check that he was okay, before her mother would no doubt order her to return to her own hospital bed for the night.

She would have to wait and see what tomorrow would bring.


End file.
